


Remembrance and Reunion

by iulia_linnea



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-04
Updated: 2012-11-04
Packaged: 2017-11-17 23:28:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 35,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/554377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iulia_linnea/pseuds/iulia_linnea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story set in the Wizarding World and beneath it that traces the forgotten repercussions of an ancient war to the aftermath of the second rise of Lord Voldemort and details certain events that have a bearing on both the future of Britain's magical society and two of its more famous inhabitants, one of whom has left her world behind—or has she?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Appropriate Parting

**Author's Note:**

> Girl!Harry Snarry AU featuring goblins. Completed 31 December 2004. Also archived at [Whole New Worlds](http://www.jedibuttercup.com/worlds/fic/iulialinnea/rar_00.html).

Harry cast one last disconsolate glance around the Harmony Garden and tried to capture the gentle chiming of the Bells of Remembrance in a final aural memory. She would not be returning to this place. Ever.

Ignoring the statue that bore her visage, she opened the gate to the park and stepped through it. It was dawn, and the Girl Who Lived wanted to be well away from the Ministry of Magic before the officials and tourists arrived to begin their day. Harry had one final visit to pay in London, and then she would be leaving the Wizarding World.

Draco Malfoy was waiting at his door for her, a cup of fragrant, steaming coffee in his hand.

"Come in," he said, handing her the cardamom brew and stepping back inside his flat to allow her to enter.

As was their custom, they walked through the long chain of rooms toward the terrace.

"Good morning," Harry greeted the wizard after sitting in her favorite chair next to the Fire Ficus for which Draco could never seem to care properly; its leaves weren't even producing heat. "You should really have someone in to care for your plants, you know."

"Why?" he asked sharply. "Who's going to see them after you've gone?"

The witch didn't rise to the bait. "Point," she said mildly, sipping her coffee and watching the frown lines deepen on her host's face.

As alone as Harry felt, Draco truly was. Though he had never taken the Dark Mark, society had turned its back on the Malfoy scion. His family's legacy depleted after settling reparations on his parents' victims, Draco found himself little better than a pariah. What relatives remained to him viewed him with distaste because of his poverty, and the rest of society viewed him with suspicion because of the unsavory associations with his name.

Harry told herself that she held no great affection for the wizard, either, but Draco had helped save her life, and she would not allow herself to be ungrateful. Since the Second Trials, the witch had been a frequent guest in his home. The two unlikely companions had found that they understood each other—after a fashion.

"So," Draco asked, "did you enjoy your little sight-seeing excursion?"

"No."

"Then why go there, Potter?"

"I thought I should see the memorials at least once, and I wanted to say goodbye."

Several people to whom Harry had been close had been interred in the Hall of Monuments, which was near to the Ministry's war memorial. The visit to those places was the closest thing to saying a proper goodbye to her living friends that Harry would allow herself. _They wouldn't understand_ , she thought, _but I've got to leave_.

It had been a little over a year since Harry had killed the Dark Lord and many of his followers, and the trials of the remaining war criminals had been very hard on the young woman. This was not least because Harry had refused, despite repeated attempts by the Ministry, the media, the public, and her friends to reveal just how she had ended the hostilities. Albus Dumbledore's interference on her behalf had gone a long way toward removing the political pressure on the young woman, but the media coverage of her had not yet ceased. And Mrs. Zabini, as Harry was still known in some circles, found herself increasingly ill-disposed to remain the object of scrutiny. 

She'd had to learn a great deal more about camouflaging glamours in the seven months since her marriage had dissolved than she had ever desired to know. Hiding herself was almost more draining than missing her husband. Blaise had not appreciated his wife's failure to play her part in the arenas of family and public politics, and their disagreements on this score had led to their eventual estrangement. Despite this, the two spouses had parted amicably, and Harry had surprised many people when she had attended her ex-husband's engagement party only a month before. But now that her affairs were settled as best as they could be, the witch was prepared to leave.

"It's time for me to go, Draco."

The young man threw himself down on the stone bench across from her in disgust. "I can't believe what an idiot you are!"

The witch smiled, but there was nothing pleasant in her expression.

Draco groaned. "You knew when you married him that Zabini wanted to keep the old traditions. Where's the harm in a few familial spells?"

"A 'few familial spells'? Don't you mean _binding magics_?"

"They're the same in the Great Houses. If you'd been raised properly, you'd know that."

Harry set her cup down and stood up. "I didn't kill Voldemort just to perpetuate his hatred by becoming the broodmare for the next generation of blood purists. I'm not going to allow any children I _might_ bring to term to become pawns in an attempt to 'build a better society'!"

Draco would have argued this point, but he knew Harry would never see sense. _Not all traditions are worth abandoning_ , he thought rebelliously. But even he agreed with the witch to some extent. _The Zabinis_ have _always been more interested in protecting their bloodline than is strictly healthy_.

For a Malfoy to see this fact was significant indeed.

"Why did you marry him, then?" Draco pressed.

Without hesitation, Harry replied, "Because I love him."

That was true. Since she'd first arrived at Hogwarts eleven years ago, she and Blaise had shared a quiet friendship, one she'd never told anyone about. Ron and Hermione hadn't even known of her attachment to the boy until his unexpected appearance at Sirius Black's memorial. It had taken Ron a long time to accept Blaise's place in his best friend's life, but on the day that Harry had turned seventeen, he had been present to give her away in marriage to the wizard. The next day, they had all returned to school and begun their last year of instruction.

It had been a bizarre final term, but Harry and Blaise had made the best of it by meeting in the Room of Requirement as often as they could to nurture their fragile relationship. They had made their marital status known at the Leaving Dance, and then they'd graduated to auror instruction at Novitiate One under the guidance of Alastor Moody.

Blaise had been fluorescent under the attention of the media, and had basked in the glow of his parents' approval. For although the Zabinis prized pure blood, they could hardly be seen to disapprove of their son's eccentric choice of bride. They had sought to make the witch feel welcome—in their way—by teaching her what was expected of her as a Zabini wife. This had been the beginning of Harry's trouble with her husband, but other matters had also preoccupied her.

Fulfilling the requirements of prophesy, the witch had caused Voldemort to cease to exist on a warm spring morning in the June of her nineteenth year. Seven months later, after Harry's steadfast refusal to submit to a traditional re-bonding ceremony as greatly desired by her new family, her marriage had ended on a frigid January afternoon. It had been an indifferent July evening when the "ex-Mr. Potter" had celebrated his impending nuptials to an outwardly subdued, but privately exultant, Pansy Parkinson. And now, on the eve of her twenty-first birthday, Harry was prepared to leave all that was increasingly unfamiliar to her and seek a new life for herself somewhere her fame would not follow her.

She was terrified.

Draco shoved himself out of his seat with a lack of his customary grace and approached the pensive-looking witch, cupping her face in his palms and staring down into her eyes. He allowed his gaze to express his concern.

But it wasn't enough.

Taking a deep breath, he said, "I care about you, Potter—and not just because you like my coffee."

Harry laughed, an honest laugh that carried away with it some of her trepidation, but saw at once that the wizard misunderstood her.

Catching his hands before he could pull away, she said, "Draco, I'm not laughing at you."

The wizard relaxed.

"I'll miss you, too."

"Harry . . . . It doesn't have to be like this. If you'd only explain—"

"—no!" she exclaimed, pulling away. "I'm _not_ going to discuss what happened. The war is over now, and I want nothing to do with its ghosts."

"So that's it, then? You're just going to abandon me to a solitary existence of teaching ungrateful brats how to defend themselves against dark magics they'll probably never experience?"

As a reward for his service during the war, Headmaster Dumbledore had offered the wizard the Defense Against the Dark Arts professorship. Draco had accepted the position, but, characteristic of a Malfoy, had not scrupled to be grateful for Dumbledore's generosity. He had not fully accepted his decent from the highest rank of society to that of a lowly educator.

"I think you protest too much. What else are you going to do?"

They began walking toward the front door.

"At least as a teacher, you'll be able to rebuild your reputation," Harry continued. "And think," she said, a smirk appearing at one corner of her mouth, "of the joy you'll find as a molder of young minds."

Draco grimaced. "Yes, it sounds like a thrilling prospect, Potter. 'Turn to page one. Today, we're going to study the mysterious disappearance of the savior of the Wizarding World. One hundred points to the first of you who can explain how the Girl Who Lived managed her most welcome trick ever'."

"It's too late to feign bitterness, Draco. I already know that you like me."

"The bitterness isn't _feigned_ ," he retorted, opening the door.

Harry stepped through it.

"Well, at least you'll be in the happy position of having been the last person to see me. That ought to be worth a few dinner invitations from some of the less-discriminating 'Great Houses' of yours."

"Muggle prat!" the wizard called to Harry's retreating back.

"Insufferable ferret!" she rejoined without turning.

_An appropriate parting_ , Draco thought, closing the door on the end of what had been the closest thing to friendship he had ever known.

For her part, Harry felt that the sound of the wizard's door shutting was a decent symbol of her passage from one life into another.

_Goodbye_ , she thought resolutely, stepping into the waking street and apparating into her unknown future.

No one noticed the discontinuity created by the disappearance of the young woman from the front of the building; but then, Muggles rarely permitted themselves to notice such things.


	2. A Yuletide Break

The Yuletide break in the academic term found Severus Snape in the Hogwarts kitchen collecting ingredients to prepare himself a solitary Christmas meal. He refused to dine with those few professors and students who had not joined their families for the holiday.

_Of course, some of them have no family with whom to celebrate_ , Snape thought, ignoring the offended house elves who had offered to prepare something for the wizard. _But, as none of them are Slytherin, I will not be joining the "festivities" for the endless discussion about where Potter has taken herself off to. Inconsiderate brat_!

The Potions master was so irritated by the deluge of speculative articles on the subject that he had canceled his subscription to the _Daily Prophet_. He did not, as many seemed to, believe that some nefarious fate had befallen the much-lauded witch.

_Clearly, the woman has amply demonstrated her ability to look after herself_.

The former Death Eater cum spy cum private citizen had not forgiven the reckless, irresponsible, infuriating witch for negating his years of sacrifice and service to the Order of the Phoenix's cause. There were no statues of _him_. No special recognition had been paid to _his_ efforts. No meaningful gratitude had been expressed for what _he_ had done before, during, and after the war. Albus' profuse thanks meant nothing to Severus; they rang especially hollow in his ears during the headmaster's announcement of Draco Malfoy as the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

"That position should have been mine!" he spat, startling the house elves.

One of the creatures appeared at his elbow, levitating itself next to the professor's position by the cutting board.

"Dobby knows that Professor Snape was very brave during the war. Harry Potter says so!"

"What?" snarled the wizard, ungracious in the face of this unexpected and extraordinary scrap of praise.

"Harry Potter is always saying to Dobby what a great man Professor Snape is, so Dobby is knowing that it is true," the house elf said, his words causing a murmur of agreement among the other house elves.

It was too much to be borne that his acclaim should be spread among the servants of Hogwarts, and at Potter's instigation.

"Damn and blast that woman!" the Potions master yelled, forgetting his meal preparations as he stormed out of the kitchen.

It was only after he had returned to the cool comfort of his dungeons and was savoring the burn of his customary comfort that the wizard realized the full implications of Dobby's words.

_The brat has discussed me with a house elf, a house elf who might know something about her disappearance_.

Slamming down his tumbler of Scotch, Snape returned to the kitchen to seek Dobby out.

"Where is she?" he demanded.

"Who is Professor Snape meaning?"

"Potter. Where is she?"

The house elf blinked, large, innocent-looking eyes at the wizard. "Dobby is not knowing _that_ , Professor Snape."

"Rubbish! You just said—"

"—I is only knowing," the elf interrupted, his ears twitching, "that Harry Potter _respects_ Professor Snape."

_Ah_ , thought Severus. _Perhaps I mistook the creature's fractured use of the English language for a clue_.

But the man's observation of the elf's _body_ language would not permit him to accept this hypothesis.

"When was the last time you spoke with Potter? What, _exactly_ , did she say to you at that time?"

The Potions Master was sure that he was equal to the task of catching a house elf in an attempted evasion. If his career as a spy hadn't honed his abilities in that direction, his time as an _educator_ certainly had.

"Dobby is not understanding why Professor Snape is wanting to know about Harry Potter."

"My reasons are my own concern, and I'll thank you not to persist in this imbecilic attempt to misdirect me. Tell me what Harry Potter said about me the last time you spoke with her."

"The last time Dobby is speaking to Harry Potter, Harry Potter is saying nothing about Professor Snape."

Forcing himself not to throttle the house elf, Severus snapped, "The last time you spoke to Harry Potter about Pro—about _me_ —what did she say?"

It was not unlike having to formulate precise questions for a subject under the effects of Veritaserum, interrogating a house elf.

Dobby sighed as if realizing he could not ignore such a direct request. "Harry Potter is saying many things, Professor Snape. Harry Potter is saying that Professor Snape is a great wizard doing brave things in the war, and that Professor Snape is deserving to be respected—not gossiped about by Dobby and Dobby's elves."

" _Dobby's elves"_? Severus asked himself. _Interesting. Apparently, these creatures have developed a hierarchical power structure of sorts_.

The wizard reflexively filed this information away in his mind, for one never knew when such information might prove to be useful.

"And precisely when was it that . . . Mrs. Zabini found the time to defend my honor?"

The house elf's expression changed from one of bland compliance to that of mutinous distress. "The _great Professor Snape_ is surely knowing that the Blaise is _not_ Harry Potter's husband any longer!"

Realizing his tactical error, the wizard replied at once, "Of course. Forgive my lack of . . . exactness."

But Dobby remained silent.

Unwilling to lose any further intelligence that the elf might impart, Severus said, " _Mr_. Zabini's behavior toward Miss _Potter_ has been abominable, I admit." _They should have never married in the first place—it was a_ most _unsuitable match_.

His words had a mollifying effect on Dobby. "Yes, yes! The Blaise is not a nice wizard!"

Severus forbore commentary of any kind, remembering the genuine shock he had felt when his two students had revealed their unlikely alliance over four years previously. He had not forgiven Potter for _that_ revelation, either. Traitorously, he admitted that the girl's discretion was impressive, though he would never have scrupled to give voice to such a thought.

The continued prattling of the house elf broke the man's reverie.

"—and Dobby is knowing how much Harry Potter is loving the Blaise. She is crying when she is telling Professor Dumbledore about the . . . divorce," Dobby said, lowering his voice as he spoke the last word as if it were some sort of disease.

"When was _this_?" the wizard demanded.

Albus had _seemed_ as surprised as anyone to discover that Harry and Blaise had married in secret.

_But then, he's had more practice in the art of deception than any of his spies_.

"On Harry Potter's last visit to Hogwarts, Professor Snape, before school is starting again."

_That would have been just before she disappeared_. "Thank you, Dobby," the wizard said, making a concerted effort to be gracious to the house elf so that he might cultivate the being as a continued source of information.

He cursed himself for having heretofore overlooked such a ready resource.

As the Potions master left the kitchen, Dobby rubbed his hands together in satisfaction. Professor Snape _was_ an unlikely friend for Harry Potter, but the house elf knew that if _anyone_ could find her, it was the surly wizard who had just left without saying goodbye.

"You is interfering, Dobby," Winky chastised him from her position by the hearth. "You is _not_ a proper house elf!"

"Dobby is a _free_ house elf, Winky, and a _proper_ friend to Harry Potter. And Harry Potter is needing to come home."

The elf had loved and taken care of Harry Potter for years. He knew all of her friends. He knew that Professor Snape cared for Harry Potter, too.

_For Professor Snape is crying, too, after Harry Potter is saying she is married to the Blaise_.

Seeing the professor cry over concern for Harry Potter had proved to Dobby that the man was a proper _wizard_.


	3. A Hidden Regard

Severus wanted to speak to Albus at once, but he knew that it would be foolish to do so unprepared. Everything he knew of spy craft he had learned at the hand of the headmaster, and although that man was not in the habit of invading his Potions master's thoughts, Severus knew that there were some things that he could not hide from his mentor without taking certain precautions.

The words "mentor" and "master" swirled in his mind as he began to mix the ingredients that would form the base of the scrying potion he required as the main component of a pensieve. The construction of the device, once the draught was prepared, was astonishingly simply, but brewing the liquid in which his memories would be held was a time-consuming procedure that needed great care. Severus had never before had cause to concoct such a potion, and was, he admitted, somewhat worried that he might make a procedural error. But he could hardly ask to borrow Albus' pensieve, so he pressed on. 

Three days later, he found himself looking down into a silver bowl, steeling himself against the memories he desired to hide.

These began with the moment that Remus Lupin had burst into the headmaster's office, bloodied and breathing heavily, full of disturbing news. 

"Death Eaters—going to attack the Ministry—Lucius Malfoy, gone to his manor—we think he may have left the Dark Lord's service," the man had panted after falling into a chair.

"Severus?" Albus asked.

"He calls to me," the wizard replied, releasing his arm, though his Mark burned.

"Ah."

Albus called an Order meeting, then, and Severus remembered his concern when Potter arrived. Her face was pale, her eyes narrowed in pain.

"Perhaps Potter shouldn't be here for this, Headmaster."

"She's fine, Snape," Zabini insisted in a tight voice.

Albus had ignored the exchange, and replied, "We'll need to capture Lucius before the attack. It wouldn't do for him to arrive with reinforcements at an inopportune moment."

There had been a brief argument between Harry and Blaise. The boy had wanted to accompany the squad from Novitiate One that Severus would be leading to the Malfoy estate. But Harry had refused to permit it.

"No, Blaise. Snape and I will lead the squad with Tonks and Shacklebolt as backup. We can't fight together. You know that."

"I do _not_ know that!"

"Mr. Zabini, I have need of you with me," Albus told the young auror, quelling any further protests the wizard might have made.

Getting through the hags and vampires on the Malfoy estate was an ugly business; several of the untested aurors had died, but at last, he, Harry, Shacklebolt, Tonks, and Weasley had achieved the residence, while the other aurors patrolled the perimeter.

"Where is everyone?" Ron asked, standing in the main hall of Malfoy Manor.

Shacklebolt answered him with an order. "You're with me, Weasley. Tonks?"

"I'll take the main floor."

Severus and Harry headed toward the dungeons without comment. Although they didn't care for one another, they had proved that they were an efficient team in the field.

At the top of the stairs leading to the lower reaches of the manor, Harry paused to ask, "Where are the house elves?"

The Potions master didn't respond verbally, but they crept down the stairs at his nod. At the first landing, however, he stopped. "No wards—Voldemort deals swiftly with traitors, perhaps—"

"—you don't really believe that Malfoy is dead, do you? Besides, Draco's alive, so the wards—"

"—should still be active. This is a trap. Potter."

"Likely."

"You shouldn't be here."

"The trap isn't for _me_ , Snape."

They did not argue the point, but continued to the antechamber of the family's interrogation suite—where they found a drunken Lucius slumped over a table, heedless of the foe glass that was next to his lowered head.

Even in the gloom, it was clear that the wizard had been badly beaten.

"His wand raised, Severus entered the room. "Lucius."

"Ah, my old _friend_. Come in."

Harry followed her partner into the room and ordered, "Hands where I can see them, Malfoy."

"Ah, my old _friend_. Come in," the wizard said again.

"Potter, don't get any closer to him—this is an illusion."

The "Death Eater" began to flicker, and then the door slammed shut.

"Damn it!" Severus and Harry exclaimed as one.

"It seems that the trap is for both of us."

"Snape—look at the foe glass."

A coruscating ball of green light surrounded the foe glass and began to grow larger, obliterating the glamour that had been "Lucius."

"Move!" Harry yelled, knocking Severus to the floor and screaming an incantation.

_A shielding spell_ , the man thought as viridian streaks of magic flared from the energy ball to strike a them.

"It's going to explode—help me!"

Harry fueled her shield with her own magic and willed it to encompass what they both realized had to be a bomb of some sort.

_Avada Kedavra_ , Severus heard the witch think. _It will kill the others_! He knew that she was correct, for the others had no way of knowing what was about to happen, so, heedless of the consequences, he, too, sped his own magic into the ward.

It held as the cursed trap exploded, spewing corrosive green light against their barrier and shaking them into unconsciousness.

Severus awoke to find Potter trembling violently on top of him. He wasn't in much better shape than the witch, but he had considerably more practice at the kind of personal warding magic they had employed, and had reflexively known how to spare himself from a near-complete draining of his magic.

"Potter," he said quietly, registering that her shield was dim, but still active. "Harry, you have to stop!"

But the woman was beyond hearing.

Severus prized the witch's wand from her clenched fingers and ended the incantation.

Harry immediately went limp.

Severus rolled her into his lap as he sat up to assess her condition. Her pulse was thready, her breathing shallow, and her skin cold. _She gave too much of her energy to the ward._

His first thought was to apparate, but there was too much residual magic in the room to make that option feasible, that, and he did not think he had the strength to apparate even himself. In the explosion, the wall in which the door had been set had crumbled in, so he couldn't carry her out. 

Despairing, he thought, _She's going to die_.

Until that moment, the wizard had not allowed himself to understand how very much he wanted the witch to live. 

Severus forced himself to be calm, and considered: _I'm not a healer. There is only one way in which I could share magic with Harry—but she would never—damnation_! _I'm not going to ask_!

There wasn't time.

"Harry, I have to—I need to—Harry, I'm _sorry_ ," the wizard whispered into her hair as he cradled her against himself.

_There isn't time_!

Adjusting their bodies so that the woman was laying next to him, Severus began placing gentle kisses in her hair, on her face, and, eventually, on her lips. He coaxed open her mouth, and ran trembling hands over her body, and soon, she began to respond to his attentions.

"Blaise," she murmured.

"Yes!" Severus hissed, feeling his chest tighten and ignoring it. "Blaise—think of Blaise."

Harry began running her hands down Severus' back, and he rolled on top of her and pressed himself against her.

"Harry."

Her eyes snapped open in surprise as she realized who was touching her.

For a moment, the man thought she was going to object, but a fierceness lit her expression, and she arched her back.

"Help me."

It was all the permission he required.

He did not think about how she struggled at moments as if she'd forgotten her request, how her scar burned against his forehead, how she seemed to be fighting—if not him, perhaps herself—and soon, he was sharing his magic with the witch in the oldest of ways.

"You're not _him_ ," she gasped suddenly. Not _him_."

The sadness Severus felt at her words was almost overwhelming. "No, I'm not, Harry. I'm sorry, I'm _so_ sorry," he almost cried.

"S'alright, Sev—Sev—Severus!"

And hearing his name from Harry's lips _had_ overwhelmed him. He'd given the witch his magic, his seed, his _love_ before collapsing atop her, spent, but full of self-loathing.

His last conscious thought was, _She'll_ never _forgive me_.

"Just as I will never forgive _myself_ ," Severus whispered, laying his wand down next to the pensieve. _Harry_ . . . .


	4. A Learning Experience

"Why are you suddenly so interested in Harry's whereabouts, Severus?"

The Potions master steepled his fingers and chose his words carefully. A near-truth was called for in response to the headmaster's question, and the wizard found himself somewhat out of practice in the art of misdirection.

"I have been conducting some additional research into the stabilizing potion I brewed for Potter, and I am troubled by my findings."

"Which were?"

"The potion is losing its potency, Albus."

"I see. What might the repercussions be for Harry?"

"Without analyzing her blood, I cannot say. But I think it would be prudent to find her before she experiences any related difficulties that might arise over my . . . lack of care."

"Do you truly believe that a loss of," the older wizard said, narrowing his eyes in concentration, "less than one percent efficacy is cause enough to violate the young woman's privacy, Severus?"

The Potions master stood up angrily. "Damn it, any loss of efficacy is cause for concern!"

Albus reached for the crystal bowl of lemon drops that sat on the edge of his desk, retrieved one, and popped it into his mouth.

"You are the master of such matters, of course," he replied in a noncommittal tone.

Severus sat again, thinking, _No_ , you _are the master here. I was a fool to believe that I could hide anything from you_.

Albus smiled. "Then why not tell me why it is that you truly wish to find Harry?"

"Because it is no concern of yours."

"Perhaps not."

"Albus, I cannot explain. To do so _would_ be a violation of her privacy, and I do not wish to betray Harry's trust further than I already have."

"Would you be referring to the events that transpired during your attempted apprehension of Lucius Malfoy?"

"She surely never—"

"—no, dear boy, she did not, but I have seen enough in my time to know when two people have become magic-fasted to glean something of what passed between you that day."

Severus was shocked by this revelation. "What do you mean, magic-fasted?"

"You did not know? Interesting . . . . Well, Harry did seem to take great pains to avoid you afterwards."

"But such a bond as that is our oldest form of marriage! I was only attempting to save her life!"

"And so you did."

"Gods! No wonder . . . this is worse than I . . . what have I _done_?"

"I believe that we have just established _that_. The real question is _why_ did you do it?"

"I hardly think it matters, Albus. Harry must despise me."

"Perhaps this will provide you with answers," the wizard said, holding out a hand before him to retrieve a conjured letter.

"Is that—"

"—from Harry? Indeed it is, my friend," Albus told him, offering him the letter. "It is also the only assistance that I may provide you in this matter. Harry did not know where she was going when she handed the letter to me—by design, I believe. You trained her well, it would seem."

Severus tore open the light blue envelope without delay and read:

> Dear Severus,
> 
> I know how furious you must be with me for seeking Voldemort out on my own, but it was necessary. You would have tried to stop me from doing what we both knew had to be done, and I came to realize, finally, that it was my job to destroy him, my job alone.
> 
> My methods were my own, but you helped me discover them when the bond you forged between us repelled Voldemort from my mind, from my body. I was too weak then to have prevented him from taking me over. Thank you for that, for looking out for me, for saving me.
> 
> I will not forget your gentleness.
> 
> But I have to leave. I am not the same since I ended it, not safe, and I will not allow what still exists of Voldemort inside of me to cause anyone harm. That is the point of winning, isn't it? To make everyone safe?
> 
> I'm glad that you are safe, even if you won't believe it.
> 
> Goodbye.
> 
> Harry

Severus felt his gorge rise as he digested the implications of Harry's letter. _She allowed herself to be used_ , he thought, shame coiling in his belly, _and I taught her to do it_.

"That is taking too much upon yourself, dear boy."

"You . . . you should have killed me, Albus," Severus replied hollowly, staggering to the hearth and flooing to his chambers without another word.

The headmaster sighed heavily when he was alone, his own feelings of guilt enfolding him as might the arms of an old friend. He had borne much over the years toward the preservation of the Greater Good, and had elected to bear his burden alone rather than share it with those he loved.

 _And Harry has learned much by my example_.

***

The new year dawned at Hogwarts bringing with it several changes in staff. Professors Flitwick and Binns had retired; Flitwick to write, and Binns because he had suddenly realized his condition—with some help from Dumbledore, who had wished to install Remus Lupin as the new History of Magic professor. Those on the Board of Governors had been displeased by this change, but had been greatly mollified by Tongish Oddfish's acceptance of Professor Snape's classes while that wizard was on sabbatical. Oddfish was a noted agitator for the rights of those infected by werewolf venom, and the prestigious member of the Spellcrafters' Guild would not have understood it if prejudice had exempted a qualified professional from employment. 

The fact that Lupin was a war hero was also an influential consideration for the governors.

"Good morning, Professor Lupin."

"Headmaster," the other wizard acknowledged. "What brings you out on such a cold morning?"

"My own disquietude, I suppose."

"Ah. I was just wondering how to inject some excitement into Binns' lesson plans."

Albus laughed. "Be kind to yourself—and to your students—and draw up your own."

"I've already decided to bring in someone from the Department of Mysteries to discuss some of the old forms of war craft that were discarded after the Great Goblin Wars."

"A capital idea! Though I must say that I do wish so much of our history was not that of conflict."

"Agreed—but it wouldn't do to forget."

Neither wizard spoke for awhile, each troubled by his own concerns about the nature of the "victory" against Voldemort. The Dark Lord was dead, but the social conditions that had permitted his rises to power were yet extant in their society.

"We go as children to war ignorant of our own uselessness, and emerge as mighty tools for he who dares to make use of us. And only when we have come to accept our places in the game of power are we then fit to be discarded," Albus murmured.

"Who said that?"

"Grindelwald, shortly before I discorporated him."

"Did he mean you?" Remus asked, though he did not expect an answer.

Dumbledore was known for having never spoken of his time with the would-be Dark Lord of his era, just as Harry had refused to speak of Voldemort.

"When I was a much younger man, I often found his statements worthy of much reflection. But that was before he went mad. It's a tricksome thing, power, when one has not the internal resources to reject its use."

Remus turned to the headmaster and said, "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Exercising your 'internal resources'."

Albus gave a rueful chuckle. "Perhaps it would be better to thank my mother. She spent the first two decades of my life teaching me to scrutinize my every whim, and dismiss my desires as never as important as the good of others. She was a hard woman, and a talented witch, and she knew her boy."

Remus removed a battered flask from his robes and toasted, "To Madeline Ginevra Morgana Templeton Dumbledore, the greatest teacher of her generation" before passing the container to Albus, who accepted it, and drank deeply.

"To Mother."


	5. Family Connections

At almost the same moment that Remus and Albus were sharing their toast, Molly Weasley was pressing Severus Snape to take tea with her at the Burrow.

"Sit down, sit down!" she insisted, pushing Severus into a chair and casting a warming charm over the wizard before he could protest. "What in Merlin's name brings you out so early on such a cold morning?"

Without waiting for his reply, Molly began to heap a plate with eggs and kippers, which she set in front of her guest just as Arthur Weasley entered the kitchen.

"Snape!" he said in surprise, extending his hand to the man. "It's good to see you."

"Minister," Severus acknowledged, a little taken aback by his hosts' forceful hospitality.

"None of that, now. Call me Arthur. No need to stand on ceremony here. What brings you to the Burrow?" he asked, taking his seat.

Molly sat down, as well.

"I've come to ask Mrs.—Molly—if she's heard anything from Po—Harry," he corrected himself, noting the look that passed between the married couple.

"Oh, dear! I appear to be running late," Arthur said abruptly, rising from the table. "Perhaps—"

"—certainly, dear," Molly interrupted her husband, quickly magicking a breakfast into a basket and handing it to Arthur, who had walked to the back door. "Mind the dragons," she admonished him, kissing him on his cheek.

"I beg your pardon, Molly. I did not intend—"

"—oh, don't worry, dear. It's just that we think of Harry as quite one of our own children, and her . . . absence upsets Arthur a great deal."

"Of course," Severus said quickly, thinking of other children that the Weasleys had lost.

Fred and George and died during the war, Bill was in St. Mungo's "recovering," and Percy—well, the less said about that boy the better.

_May he languish long in Azkaban_ , Severus willed to himself, for it was he who had captured Percy. 

The Weasleys had never reproached him for _that_.

Molly smiled weakly and joined him at the table again.

"I'm afraid that we only heard once from Harry, Severus, in November when she sent Christmas gifts. Here," she said, taking the chain from around her neck and handing it to him.

It was a fine chain, wrought in gold, and dangling from it was a charm in the shape of a lituus.

"The dear girl always said I had the instincts of an augur. . . . Oh, I _worry_ about her! She must have felt so alone after what Blaise Zabini did to her!"

The woman's maternal fierceness made Severus grateful that Molly had no psychic ability. _You'd_ kill _me if you knew the extent of_ my _guilt_.

Handing the necklace back to her, he asked, "Did she send anything else?"

"Well, she gave Arthur a ring bearing a caduceus. In her letter, she wrote that she felt it was his duty to heal the wounds made by the war."

"She's become a poet."

"Don't scoff."

"I assure you, I was not scoffing."

"Fine, then," Molly said hurriedly, altering her briefly skeptical expression to one of thoughtfulness before continuing. "She sent Ron and Hermione a gift certificate to Neville's nursery so that they could master that unruly garden of theirs in Hogsmeade, and she sent Ginny the complete _Merlin's Life and Writings_. They're required reading at the Spellcrafters' Guild, you know."

"That was a most thoughtful gift."

"Yes, it was. What with the expenses we incurred getting our Ginny into the Guild, it would have been almost impossible to provide her with all her books."

_One would think that the Ministry could pay its chief employee enough for such expenses_ , Severus thought, but said nothing.

"Harry had her Gringott's representative send draughts to Charlie and Hagrid for their various animal concerns, as well. Charlie was able to completely refurbish the dragon pens, and Hagrid added several new exhibits to his zoo of rare magical creatures. Oh! and every week my Bill has some sort of lovely fresh fragrant plant or flower sent to his room. I just _know_ he must appreciate them. He relaxes when they arrive, every time," Molly finished, surreptitiously wiping her eyes.

The Potions master swallowed uncomfortably. It was unlikely that the eldest Weasley child was aware of much of anything.

"I'm certain that's true," he lied.

"But I think you might like to read her letter?" Molly asked, excusing herself.

When she returned, she handed Severus a familiar-looking light blue envelope. A quick examination revealed the paper to be magically inert and of Muggle origin, but Harry had written nothing that the wizard could use to find her.

"It would seem that Harry has not yet let go of her past."

"I agree, Severus. I keep hoping that she just needs some time alone to help herself get over Blaise."

"Did she never speak to you about the . . . particulars of her divorce?"

"She didn't have to. That family—and the war—and . . . and losing the ba—oh!" the witch exclaimed, covering her mouth in horror at her words.

"What? Losing _what_ , Molly?" Severus asked sharply. "Was Harry _pregnant_?"

"Oh, Severus, no one was supposed to know about it!"

"Molly, _please_. If I'm to find Harry, anything that you can tell me—"

"—only Arthur and I knew," Molly said quietly. "She wouldn't even allow us to tell Blaise."

"When was this?" the wizard asked, feeling his stomach clench.

The witch wrung her hands. "On her twentieth birthday, after the celebration. She fought with him, so I invited her to stay. I . . . I found her miscarrying later that night. I have some experience with . . . that situation, so I took care of her."

Severus felt twin pangs of sympathy and dread at Molly's words, for he knew that the woman must have experienced a similar loss—and he'd done the math.

_Harry could have been carrying the Dark Lord's child_.

"Arthur saw to it that Harry's baby, her baby girl, was interred with our little ones in the Hall of Monuments. Harry was adamant that no one should ever know."

The wizard didn't know what to say. He wanted to see the memorial, but he knew of no pertinent reason to give to Molly for his interest that would secure her permission to enter her family's crypt. But he had been quiet for too long, and when at last he looked up at the witch, it was to see the shrewdness of her gaze as she examined his face.

"Oh, Severus. I had no idea."

"Of what?"

Reaching for the wizard's hands, she replied, "That the baby might have been yours."

He would have snatched his hands away, but Molly was holding them too firmly to allow him to do so gently.

"Arthur and I, we wondered . . . we knew that Harry's reticence had to mean _something_ , and, well, her shielding abilities weren't . . . you _saved_ her, didn't you?"

"Did I?" Severus asked hoarsely. "She was just a child."

"No, dear. By then, Harry hadn't been a child for some time."

Severus' eyes began to sting with unshed tears, and Molly hastily withdrew her hands and took the man's untouched plate to the sink to give Severus his privacy.

"I need to know, Molly."

"Of course you do, dear. I know you may not want . . . that is, we'll keep this quiet, but the only person who I can think of whom Harry might trust to help you find out is—"

"Mrs. Granger-Weasley," Severus finished for the witch, indicating his agreement.

***

Hermione was unusually subdued as she entered the Weasley family's tomb in the Hall of Monuments that evening. She'd had to manufacture a fight in order to leave Ron after dinner, which had not been difficult; lately, she'd been very moody. Her mother-in-law's news had not helped her nerves at all, but she owed it to Harry to preserve her privacy, even if it meant keeping the information from Ron.

_But there are some things that a woman_ shouldn't _tell a man_ , she thought, looking at Professor Snape's drawn face. _And some things you_ should.

They approached the memorial stone of Annabelle Elizabeth and Martin Arthur Weasley and stood quietly for a moment.

"If I could just draw some of your blood, Professor?"

"Of course," the wizard replied, allowing the young medi-witch to perform the procedure.

He stepped away as Hermione opened the vault. He'd seen much of ugliness in his life, and he did not fear to look upon death, but now that he was here . . . well, he wasn't certain that he could face the remains of a child that might have been _his_.

He was impressed by how calmly and professionally Mrs. Granger-Weasley was handling the unusual and upsetting situation, particularly as it was clear to him that she expecting a child of her own. _Had I known of her condition earlier, I would have found another way_ , he thought, fighting the desire to turn and watch the witch work.

"Merlin!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Do you require assistance?"

"Sir, I've finished."

"Is she . . . is she _mine_?" he asked, turning to look at Hermione.

"Yes, she wa—she's yours."

Something broke inside of the wizard then—relief, grief, guilt, despair—he did not understand what his feelings were, but the tears came regardless of the reason.

Hermione looked away to the vault, and busied herself with its resealing. The murmur of her incantation filled the chamber, one with which Severus was unfamiliar; however, when he heard his name, he ran a hand over his face and approached the woman.

"What did you just do?"

In response, the witch touched the stone of the reformed wall. A third name appeared upon it next to those of the Weasley infants: Lily Peace Potter Snape.

Severus found himself humbled by the woman's acceptance of the situation, of _him_. _It's more than I deserve_. "Thank you, Mrs. Granger-Weasley," he said simply.

"You're welcome, Professor Snape. And you have my word that I'll not breathe a word of this to anyone, not even Ron."

"I have no right to expect—"

"—stuff! You have every right to your privacy, Sir. And if you don't mind my saying so, I think that Harry would be greatly relieved to know that her child was _yours_."

_Black was right. You_ are _the greatest witch of your generation_ , Severus thought, remembering how Harry, while on a mission with him, had told him something of her limited time with her godfather to pass the time. He had disagreed with that wizard's admiration of the child he'd always assumed would end up as a glorified librarian—or dead—then, but in this moment he felt oddly grateful to know that someone, even if it had to have been _Black_ , had seen the worth of the young woman.

"You see a great deal, Mrs. Granger-Weas—"

"—oh, please! Call me Hermione, Professor."

"Then you must call me Severus."

"Oh. Oh, well, I don't—"

"—Hermione, you are no longer my student, and under the circumstances . . . ."

"The circumstances. Yes," she replied awkwardly.

"I _will_ find Harry, Hermione. She has to know that . . . her . . . our child . . . ."

"Isn't Voldemort's," the witch completed for him. 

"Yes," Severus said, closing his eyes against what he imagined had been—could still be—Harry's fear on that score.

"How will you find her, Sir—Severus?"

The wizard sighed. "Are you familiar with the nature of a goblin?"

"You don't seriously mean to question the Gringott's goblins about Harry's finances, do you? They'd _never_ reveal such information."

"An excellent, if flawed, supposition. Under ordinary circumstances, you are correct. However, a goblin prizes—above money, above strength, above information—the sanctity of his family."

"But how will that help _you_?"

"In goblin society, a couple is not truly married until they produce offspring."

"But Harry's _not_ a goblin."

"Yes, but I _am_ , after a fashion."

"What do you mean?"

"The idea for the Wizard Bank of Merlin did not originate with Giancarlo Zabini. It was an idea favored by Lord Voldemort because he despised the idea of the goblins, whom he felt were lesser creatures, controlling any part of our people's finances. He sought to influence the goblins, at first, and when he found they were impervious to . . . suggestion, he attempted to destroy Gringott's. I will spare you the details, but I was able to prevent that from occurring. It was an act that forever connected me to the Ruling Clan."

"That's the clan that oversees Gringott's?"

"Yes, as well as the Hall of Monuments," Severus said, taking a deep breath before completing his thought. "Because of my clan status, I am entitled to know anything that my clan brothers can tell me about my . . . ."

"Your wife," the witch finished because she could see that Severus was having a difficult time speaking of such matters.

"Thank you, Hermione," the wizard said simply, unable to say more in light of the tenuous nature of his marriage to Harry. _I do not believe that_ she _will take things as well as you seem to be_.

"When you find Harry, Severus, I think you'll find that she'll . . . understand what you've done for her, and _why_."

_If she does, that will be for more than I could hope_. . . .


	6. In Vino Veritas

". . . a French fishing village."

Draco considered his former professor, who was sitting with him in his new office at Hogwarts. Severus had just informed him that Harry had been seen in France by an . . . associate of Mundungus Fletcher.

"How interesting," he drawled. "But why tell me?"

"Draco, you are not your father. Spare me the interlocutory games. You know very well that the land in question is part of your family's holdings."

"Not officially, of course."

"Of course."

Draco said nothing.

"I am not a solicitor. I do not care about those resources you have managed to hide. My interest is in Potter's whereabouts."

"Just because she may have been in France near my fa—near _my_ land—it does not follow that I know where Harry is _now_ , Severus."

"Forgive me, _Professor Malfoy_ , but I think you at least _suspect_ her whereabouts."

Draco preened a bit to hear Snape use his title. Of late, _any_ respect he received was welcome. "Of course, we all have our theories, but I see no reason to share mine with you."

Severus leaned back into his chair feeling smug and sipping meditatively from his glass of fire whiskey. 

_The boy is careless_ , he thought, watching Draco take a sip from _his_ glass.

It had been a simple enough matter to break Malfoy's personal wards and interfere with the contents of his liquor cabinet. The Veritaserum would be taking effect in moments.

"Tell me, _boy_ ," Severus said with deliberate rudeness, "just how _did_ you kill your father?"

"How _dare_ —how dare—what did you _do_ to me?" Draco spluttered. "Veritaserum! But my wards—"

_Wait for it_ , Snape told himself. He'd formulated the potion to have a delayed effect, so that in the event that Draco drank before he had occasion to visit him, the boy would attribute the wooziness he was beginning to feel to the effects of the alcohol. " _How_ did you kill Lucius?"

"With the Killing Curse, damn you!"

Severus was impressed. It was unusual for a subject under Veritaserum to display anger. _His control is strong. Perhaps Albus wasn't wrong to offer Draco the position_.

The Potions master elected to ask a few more questions to ensure that the boy was completely under the thrall of the draught before asking what he had truly come to discover.

"How did you get close enough to Lucius to cast that particular Unforgivable?"

Not resisting as much as before, Draco replied, "I convinced Aunt Bella to break off with her squad from the Ministry attack to help me hunt Father down. She hated traitors."

"You _were_ always a favorite of hers, which was fortunate for you. The last time Bellatrix and I spoke, she seemed to suspect that Lucius had engineered your . . . defection as a means of positioning you as a spy among Dumbledore's ranks. She greatly esteemed your father."

As Severus' words had not been phrased as a question, Draco did not respond.

"Was Bellatrix surprised when you killed her?"

"She never saw her death, none of them did."

"Why did they not see their deaths?"

"Because I used one of Father's special traps."

_Ah. An Avada Kedavra bomb_. "How did you manage to come by one of those?"

"Mother sent me Father's journals. I built it."

"Why did you never tell anyone about the journals?"

"Harry convinced me not to. We agreed that the Ministry couldn't be trusted with such information."

"Do you still have Lucius' journals?"

"Yes."

"Why keep them?"

"Because I want to construct countermeasures to my father's inventions, and they . . . the journals . . . are all I have left of him."

_You still love him_ , Severus thought sadly. But he did not dwell on this fact, for he knew the Veritaserum would soon be wearing off. "Draco, did you tell Harry about the fishing village?"

"Yes."

"In what context?"

"In the context of reminiscing about my childhood because she was interested in it—in _me_ ," Draco said, his knuckles white against the arms of his chair as he clutched them in resistance to the potion.

"Tell me about the fishing village."

"It's abandoned, and Lord Voldemort took refuge there because it . . . it's . . . it's located on a node of power."

"Why would Harry have wanted to—" Severus began, but stopped as Draco stood.

The Potions master stood, as well, and went to his godson, pressing him down firmly into his chair again. He was pleased that he had had the foresight to relieve the boy of his wand when he'd first arrived. _You have a great deal to learn_ , he thought as he conjured a glass of water and handed it to Draco.

The younger man drank, but then sputtered, "Damn you, Severus! I trusted you!"

"That was a mistake, but an honest one, given our affiliation."

"Our 'affiliation' . . . Gods, I'm no Dark Arts instructor."

" _Defense_ Against the Dark Arts instructor, Draco, and you'll make a fine one—once you learn when _not_ to trust. I have _faith_ in you."

It was the shock of recent weeks more than guilt that compelled Severus to be kind, but pragmatism made him gracious.

"I am not a well-liked man, for the simple reason that I have never sought anyone's esteem. I take what I need, and damn the consequences. It pleases me to know that you are not so . . . hard of heart. I would, however, suggest that you cease to use your family warding magics. _Lucius_ trusted me, as well."

"Is that all you have to say to me, _godfather_?"

"No, it is not. I truly believe that your lack of viciousness will ultimately make you a far more powerful wizard than your father ever was. Your actions have already proved that you are the greater _man_."

Draco appeared stunned to have received such praise from the wizard he'd long idolized.

"You have my respect, Draco. I hope you will forgive my . . . methods, so that, in time, you and I may explore how we might become as true family to one another."

Severus laid his godson's wand down next to the boy in a gesture of trust, and then he turned and left the room.

_And what place in "our" family might_ Harry _take_? Draco wondered before resolving never to drink again.


	7. Unexpected Developments

"What do you _mean_ , she's still your wife?" Giancarlo Zabini demanded of his wife's son and his nephew.

The younger wizard scowled at his mother's third husband, the eldest brother of his father, and replied, "Exactly what I said, _Uncle_. Apparently, my divorce from Harry was never completed because she and I failed to conduct a Sealing Ceremony for the baby."

" _What_ baby?"

"Now, Mother, if I knew _that_ , I would have been able to avoid _this_ unexpected development."

Blaise spoke with feigned calmness. In truth, ever since he'd been informed by the clerk of the Hall of Records that he could not be issued a marriage license, and _why_ , he'd felt a powerful agitation that ate at his mind.

_How could Harry have kept her pregnancy from me_? _Why_? _Why did she—oh, gods_! _No wonder she pushed me away. Oh_ , Ree, _I've failed you_.

Zoroastrid perceived her son's distress, and said, more gently, "If you still care for her, then we'll just have to find her and bring her home to you, darling. Would you like that?"

"It doesn't matter. Harry's _gone_ , and I doubt," Blaise said, looking at Giancarlo pointedly, "that _any_ of us could compel her to return."

"Don't blame me because you couldn't handle your wife, boy. You knew what was expected of you."

_Yes, I did_.

The Zabinis followed the Old Ways, which meant that their head of house was the absolute authority over all members. As soon as Voldemort's death had been announced, Giancarlo had pressed Blaise to persuade his bride to "formalize" their bond, a process that would have knitted Harry's magics to those of her family, and resulted in a large measure of her personal will being stripped from her.

Harry had refused to participate in any such ceremony.

_Yet I kept after her about it until I drove her away. No wonder she never told me about our baby_.

"If the Parkinsons learn of this, they'll have us in court for fraud and breach of promise both," Giancarlo said angrily. "You're to be married in less than a week!"

Blaise and Pansy's nuptials had been scheduled for May Day.

"This is a nightmare!"

"Perhaps not, my love," Zoroastrid replied mildly. "There must have been some reason we don't yet understand for the girl to have kept her pregnancy a secret."

"You mean, besides the fact that she didn't want to enslave her child to 'our' cause?" Blaise spat.

"Watch yourself, boy," his step-father said menacingly before turning his attention to his wife. "If we could prove that the baby wasn't _his_ , perhaps the Wizengamot would grant the divorce."

"No! I'll not permit you to drag Harry's name through the mud! _Of course_ the baby was mine!"

Zoroastrid placed a restraining hand on her husband's arm. "How can you be so sure, darling?"

"I . . . I just _am_."

"Come now, Blaise, the girl was . . . popular, you know."

"Mother!"

"We need to be certain, my son."

Blaise thought quickly. He did not like the expression on his mother's face. "I . . . I could see Hermione. She would know."

"What makes you think you can trust anything that mudblood has to say?" Giancarlo demanded.

"Because she's my _friend_."

The Zabinis watched the scion of their house storm out of the room.

"Zor'?"

"Yes, 'Carlo?"

"I think it may be prudent to consider having a child of our _own_."

Mrs. Zabini repressed a shudder as she smiled serenely at her husband. Giancarlo had an unsavory reputation, though none of the myriad deeds attributed to the man had ever been proven. Only Zoroastrid knew of his affiliation with the Dark Lord, and of how he had murdered Marco, Blaise's father and her first husband, and Italo, the middle Zabini brother and her second husband, when neither man would accept the Dark Mark—or Giancarlo's plans for their House.

No one but Giancarlo knew that it was Zoroastrid who had brewed the poisons that had killed the men, making their deaths appear to have been of natural causes.

"Beloved," the lady replied, "don't let's be hasty. Blaise loved Harry very much, and that affects his judgment. He is also too friendly with the Minister's daughter-in-law to be easily . . . dispatched. It would be better to seek an honorable disengagement for the boy from the Parkinson chit. In time, we can arrange a more suitable match for Blaise—after we've found Harry and . . . dealt with her, should she continue to refuse the re-bonding."

"And how might we find her? I've _tried_ , you know," he admitted, despising his failure more than his wife's son.

"Have you? I didn't know . . . , but nothing could be more simple. Harry loved my son as much as he loved her. I'm certain that she would never have parted with her wedding band. _Muggles_ are so sentimental, you know—even half-breeds."

Giancarlo smiled slowly. "My dearest, I've taken you for granted."

"Nonsense, my love. You are the best of husbands."

***

"You _dis_ loyal prat!" Hermione exclaimed. "You've no right to ask _anything_ about Harry—she's not your _wife_ anymore, you know."

"Actually, she _is_."

"What _are_ you talking about?"

"Harry was pregnant, Hermione, so our divorce was never finalized."

_No Sealing Ceremony, of_ course, the witch told herself. _Damn_! "Well, why should I—"

"Because my mother has access to my wedding band," the wizard said, waiting for the implication of his words to be understood.

"You mean they—your parents—want to _find_ her?"

"Yes."

Hermione reflexively touched her own wedding band as if to calm herself. She remembered how nervous Blaise had been about proposing to Harry, and how romantic the proposal had been.

He'd secreted the simple band of white gold into the snitch used in the final game of their seventh year between Slytherin and Gryffindor, and exhorted Harry to catch it if she wanted the surprise of her life.

Hermione had never seen her friend play more fiercely.

She knew that after the game, Harry had joined Blaise in the Room of Requirement where he'd revealed the ring and asked the witch for her hand in marriage.

Blaise had always been conscious of the fact that Harry despised being treated with the deference traditionally reserved for witches by wizards, but in this case, Hermione had told him that his girlfriend wouldn't mind. It was she who had persuaded him to incorporate the Muggle custom of exchanging rings into his proposal.

"Oh, no, Blaise! What can we _do_?"

The wizard removed the long golden chain that he had worn next to his skin ever since Harry had left him. On it dangled _his_ wedding band. "Here. Take it."

"If I do—your step-father, he'll—"

"—that doesn't matter," Blaise told her, turning to leave the room.

Hermione blocked his passage. "Yes, yes, it _does_."

***

As displeased as he was to receive her, Giancarlo bid his servant to admit Mrs. Granger-Weasley into his study. His spies had reported that his nephew had left the medi-witch's home that evening and gone directly to the tap of the Gryphon's Foote where he had proceeded to become well and truly pissed. Zoroastrid had contacted Pansy and told her where to find Blaise, explaining to the girl that she would have to expect such behavior as a matter of course. 

By all reports, the resultant row between the "love birds" had been very productive, indeed.

"Good evening," he greeted his guest.

"I apologize for the lateness of the hour, Sir, but after seeing Blaise this afternoon—"

"—Mrs. Weasley, never apologize for gracing my home with your presence. What may I do for you?" Giancarlo asked, holding out a chair for the woman.

"It's Granger-Weasley, actually," Hermione replied, removing a small box from her robes after sitting down and handing it to the man.

"Of course."

"Harry left this with me, Sir."

_Damnation! Say it isn't_ —

"It's her wedding band."

Giancarlo sat down heavily and clutched the box. "I see."

"It's awkward, you know, coming to see you like this, but Blaise seemed so desperate to have news of Harry today—he even told me how much he regretted not giving her a child so that she might have stayed with him," the witch said earnestly. "And so I thought, well, that you might find the appropriate moment to give the ring to him. It might help him get over his wedding jitters, and I know it must be a family heirloom."

_It most certainly is_ not _, you Muggle cow_! "How very thoughtful of you, Madam. I'm certain that this will be . . . helpful."

"Good. Well then, I should be going. Thank you for your time."

Giancarlo wasted no time, once Mrs. _Weasley_ had left, in examining the ring. It appeared genuine.

_I shall simply have to employ_ another _method of finding the wayward Mrs. Zabini_ , he thought sourly.

Giancarlo was a hard man, and a patient one. He had survived Voldemort, and he would survive the transparent machinations of his nephew.

_I will select his_ next _bride myself. She will be a proper witch—and ugly, too_.

Any thought he had entertained of murdering Blaise had dissipated earlier in the evening after he had considered _his_ bride—and her devotion to her son—more carefully. He knew how Zoroastrid dealt with the men in her life who disappointed her.

_And I intend to survive_ 'Zor _, as well_.


	8. Societal Congress

Rose Parkinson radiated beatific unconcern as she was waltzed across the dance floor by Giancarlo Zabini at what should have been her daughter's wedding reception. The lady was not as complacent as she pretended to be about Pansy's missish refusal of Blaise.

_But one doesn't disappoint people who are expecting a party_.

And her husband, Michael, had an announcement to make.

"Friends and honored guests," Mr. Parkinson called to the assembly as the strains of the waltz faded, "I am so very pleased to see you all enjoying yourselves."

A good natured swell of cheer rolled through the crowd.

"And because of our mutual fellowship, I feel confident that you will all join me in persuading our gracious host, Giancarlo Zabini, to speak to us now on a matter of great concern."

The Under-Secretary of Wizard-Muggle affairs moved swiftly to stand by his friend's side on the platform on which the orchestra was playing.

There was a smattering of polite applause.

"Thank you, Michael. Good evening, friends. Now, I won't keep you from the amusement of the evening long, but I feel that, in these uncertain times, it is best to speak openly of my plans. As many of you know, I have long been troubled by the lack of control we wizards—and witches, of course—have over the management of our wealth."

Someone groaned. "Not this again, old man!"

Mr. Zabini chuckled. "I'm afraid so, Mr. Ollivander. As we rebuild our society in the wake of the Dark Lord's defeat, I know that I am not alone in desiring a greater measure of security in the disposition of our monies. As long as the Ruling Clan of the goblin families is permitted to . . . safeguard our gold, we will remain ill-prepared to develop beyond our self-imposed boundaries."

"The boundaries of which you speak were imposed to end the Great Goblin War and protect _all_ of us, Zabini," Ollivander retorted. "You surely aren't suggesting the we break our treaty with the Ruling Clan and reveal ourselves to the Muggle world, are you?"

"My position on Muggles is clear, Sir, as I believe you know. For those present who are yet unaware of my thoughts on the matter, I will briefly outline them. While it _is_ prudent to train the gifted among the Muggles, I do _not_ wish to make ourselves known to them. Yet, the goblins increasingly have truck with such people through the agency of Squibs. This is an alarming situation, and one all wizards should oppose."

Ollivander snorted. "And witches, too, of course."

"As you say, witches, too," Zabini agreed. "My proposed Wizard Bank of Merlin would have no troublesome affiliations, and, therefore, would not risk our exposure. Such an institution would also allow us to conduct business with the financial houses of other wizarding governments, something that the Ruling Clan has ever been loathe to do."

"And how would that provide greater security for Wizarding Britain, Giancarlo?" Minister Weasley asked.

"Sir, it is not my intention to diminish our political capital, but I feel we might increase our security by increasing our wealth. To do that, we must have trade among all Wizarding nations. Surely, you see that, do you not?"

"I fear not," Arthur replied. "Your proposal would, by necessity, exclude the _non_ -wizarding members of our society from benefiting from the alliances you would seek, as the majority of wizarding governments afford no protections to—and do not treat with—such beings. Denying our allies the benefits of . . . growth would do nothing but disrupt the peace we've enjoyed with them for centuries."

"Hear, hear!" called several people in the crowd.

"With respect, Minister, our 'allies' have held us back by their fear of foreign wizards for years. That sort of behavior is certainly not what Merlin intended when he arranged the armistice between the goblin clans and our kind."

Albus Dumbledore materialized on the stage beside Giancarlo. "And what is it that you believe Merlin _did_ intend?"

To his credit, Zabini evinced no startlement to find the great wizard next to him. "Ah, Dumbledore! I'm glad you asked," he said cheerfully. "I believe our Founder would have wanted to see wizard-kind working together toward our collective good. He could not have foreseen how the Wizard-Goblin Accords would have prevented our growth as a society, a nation, and a financial power. The times have changed, Sir, and we must change with them."

"The alteration you seek to make would disenfranchise the non-wizarding beings whom Merlin held in high regard, Giancarlo, and I do not believe that, ultimately, such a change would bring us any true benefit."

"Yet to hide behind the false security of an ancient, irrelevant, _exclusionary_ treaty will, Sir?"

"Great age does not necessarily imply uselessness, boy," Ollivander said.

"Indeed," replied Dumbledore, "though perhaps the years have caused you to forget your history. Have you forgotten that the Wizard-Goblin Accords were struck to both end the hostilities between our peoples _and_ to ally them with us against those who would shrink our borders to gain more territory?"

"Yes, exactly," said Arthur.

"The old wars are over—"

"—which is why," Arthur continued, ignoring his host, "I find your distrust of the Ruling Clan odd. The goblins have performed their duties responsibly and well for generations. Why seek to cause a rift with them, now?"

"I agree," replied Ollivander. "What makes you believe we can trust our foreign contemporaries, many of whom supported Voldemort, when the clans stood with us against that wizard?"

A hush fell over the crowd at the elderly wizard's accusatory tone.

"Can you prove the collusion of France or Italy with the Dark Lord, Mr. Ollivander?" Zabini challenged sharply.

Arthur's expression hardened. "Permit me to answer that, Sir," he said to Ollivander before turning to Zabini. "It's known, Giancarlo, who our enemies are, by everyone here—even if we cannot produce evidence of their . . . activities."

"And why can we not do so?" Michael Parkinson asked, breaking the tension in the room. "Because there _is_ no evidence other than general distrust and _prejudice_ , that's why!"

"'Prejudice', you say?" asked Ollivander in amusement. "That's rich, coming from one of Voldemort's lapdogs."

"He goes too far!" hissed someone toward the back of the room.

"Rosewood, eight inches, gryphon's tongue—shut your mouth, young Carlton Snappersham, if you cannot give voice to your thoughts in full view of all of us."

Some people laughed then, but many remained stonily silent.

"Come now, Mr. Ollivander," Parkinson said hurriedly, "of _course_ there were those of our kind who sympathized with He Who Should _Not_ Be Named because they . . . mistakenly felt that wizard might advance our people, but it does not follow that we should ignore Giancarlo's ideas about working with wizards who _would_ help us to develop."

"Perhaps," Albus commented, "so long as we do not forget who our friends are, and remain conscious of our enemies, perhaps such a scheme as the Wizard Bank of Merlin might be worth pondering."

Zabini silently cursed the meddling old wizard for sounding reasonable. It worked against his interests. But there had been enough discussion.

"Thank you, _friends_ , for the stimulating debate. Please enjoy yourselves for the rest of the evening as you engage in less . . . political pursuits," Giancarlo said, signaling the orchestra to play on.

Draco Malfoy approached Minister Weasley. "Good evening, Sir."

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy! What do _you_ think of the proposed Wizard Bank of Merlin?"

"It's rubbish, Sir, and nothing more than an attempt by Zabini to exert his influence over our government. It's well-known that the man's Italian brethren long to get their hands on the wealth of our island. Without the goblins and no real army of our own, we'd be defenseless."

"Excellent point, my boy!" Ollivander exclaimed. "I'm not sure who the man thinks he's fooling. Since Roman times, that lot has wanted nothing less than to control the whole of Wizarding Europe."

"We'll just have to remain firm," Arthur said. "It wouldn't do to allow what supporters _Riddle_ has left to cause a schism among our peoples."

"You're making Mum nervous, Dad," Ginny Weasley informed her father from behind him.

Arthur chuckled. "Oh, dear, we can't have _that_. You remember Mr. Malfoy from school, don't you, Ginny?"

"Of course I do," the witch replied with little kindness in her tone.

"Miss Weasley," Draco said, bowing slightly.

"I say, I think the two of you ought to dance to take your mother's mind off of politics, Gin."

"Dad!"

"I'd be delighted," Draco said, offering the young lady his hand.

Reluctantly, Ginny accepted it.

Arthur winked at Draco as the boy led his daughter to the floor, and Albus crossed it to join his party.

Mr. Ollivander smiled expansively at Arthur. "Nicely done, _Dad_. Their wand cores match nicely. Perhaps they, too, would suit."

"Oh, I say! I didn't mean—"

Albus' eyes gleamed with prognosticating merriment. "You needn't worry, Arthur. It's only a _dance_."

"That's right," Ollivander agreed. "You only need worry once the music _stops_." 


	9. Discovery and Evasion

Azalea Sage Parkinson Snape stopped her singing in surprise when her son entered the dining room of the crumbling manor in which she persisted to live. "Home so soon, Severus? Society parties ran until dawn in _my_ day."

Her son had been staying with her since just after the start of the new year, ostensibly to conduct research. _But all he really seems to be doing is brooding_ , the lady thought, wondering again what had so upset her son _this_ time.

"I did not attend the affair, Mother. Such festivities hold little interest for me," Severus said, helping himself to some stew from the tureen on the sideboard.

Azalea did not stand on ceremony, and her one house elf was overworked as it was in his futile attempts to keep the manor habitable.

"Well, it's nice to have you here, even if you won't tell me why you've come."

"I've already explai—"

"—Severus, if you intend to lie to me, at least have the courtesy to make a better go of it."

"I _am_ researching something!"

The lady almost laughed to hear Severus sound like the boy she imagined him to be—almost. "What?"

"Mother."

"Severus."

"I cannot discuss it."

"If you _did_ , I _might_ be inclined to assist you, dear."

Severus looked at his mother, feeling uneasy. He had no doubt that Azalea _could_ help him find Harry, but he was not certain that he could trust her. His mother had never been a supporter of Voldemort, but she had never rejected the wizard outright.

"Of course I didn't, you idiot! Your father would have killed me if I had."

"You're a Legilimans!" Severus exclaimed, thoroughly shocked.

"And you're too trusting, dear."

"Mother!"

Azalea sighed. "Darling, how else is it that you imagine I survived Julius?"

"Why did you never tell me?"

"When did you ever provide me with an opportunity to do so? I swear, boy, that I studied Legilimancy in part to decipher what you got up to when you were a child. You were always such a secretive boy, and you never trusted me—going off with that Riddle trash without a word—spying for Albus Dumbledore without telling me that your allegiance had changed—you have not been the best of sons."

_And you were the best of mothers_?

"Oh, your mind is closed now, but I see the accusation in your eyes. I did what was necessary to keep you safe from your monster of a father. He was always jealous of my love for you. He threatened to kill you when I refused, initially, to employ a nanny for you as other women in our set did. I had wanted, I so desired, to raise you myself, you know. But Julius wouldn't allow it."

"I . . . I never knew, Mother. How could I? And I thought that you approved of Father's work with Lord Vold—"

"—Tom Riddle, boy! Do not dare use that ridiculous title the nasty little narcissistic sadist gave himself in this house! How you could have followed him . . . ."

"But it was _you_ who taught me to believe that we were better—"

"—Severus, I did _not_ teach you that you were inherently superior to Muggles. I taught you that, as a wizard, _as a steward of this earth_ , you were superior to those who neglected their responsibilities to protect the land—anyone who did so, not just Muggles! . . . But tell me, what made you finally decide to leave Riddle's service?"

"Because I quickly concluded that he was a genocidal maniac."

Azalea snorted. "I could have told you _that_ , son."

"Yes," Severus said, suddenly angry. "You _could_ have."

"Oh, well. What's done is done."

"Yes, I'm certain that history will record it as such. Be so good as to tell _me_ why you never left Father if you felt as you did about Lor—about _matters_."

"Why allow the man to brutalize me, I think you mean, don't you, boy?"

"Yes."

"Better me than you, son, better me than you."

"You could have taken me with you!"

"No, I could not have. Divorcing your father would have meant leaving you in his care. Examine our marital documents if you do not believe me! I am your _mother_ , Severus. I stayed for your sake. I stayed to serve as a target, and spare you your father's wrath."

It was several moments before Severus found himself able to respond.

"Thank you, Mother. I never understood your . . . sacrifice."

"No child ever does," Azalea replied, dabbing her eyes with the edge of a frayed lace napkin. "But I do not blame you for your ignorance, Severus. I never told _you_ anything, either. Can you forgive me, Severus?"

"There is nothing for which to forgive you, Mother."

"I want to hear it, boy."

Severus almost smiled. "I forgive you."

"Good!" Azalea said, rallying at once. "Now, then, would you please tell me what you are doing here?"

After their exchange, Severus found it somewhat easier to unburden himself to his mother.

"That poor, brave girl! We must find her and bring her home at once!"

"I have been attempting to do so for months, Mother."

"And going about it in quite the wrong way, too. Do you really expect that Harry is hiding among her own kind?"

"What do you mean?"

"Your wife is half Muggle, Severus. Surely you've considered the possibility that she's living among Muggles?"

"I have, but there is no way to search for her in the Muggle world."

Azalea shook her head in disbelief. "So short-sighted! You've looked into her finances. Did it never occur to you to extend your search to Muggle financial institutions?"

"Yes, but Gringotts doesn't deal with such concerns."

"Of course they don't, but they employ Squibs who do, Severus, and those people often live as Muggles, which means that they have to change their galleons into pounds. Harry may have done the same."

"Through an intermediary, to avoid detection," Severus replied.

***

While Severus and Azalea were plotting a new course of action in their search for Harry, a hooded figure was running down a dark Oxfordian alleyway toward the back door of a pastry shoppe into which another person had just fled. The pursuer made quick work of the lock, and followed the quarry inside.

"I know you're in here, girl" the man said. "Make it easy on yourself, and come out where I can see you."

He received no response.

A bell at the front of the shop rang, and the man raised his wand and prepared himself.

As he stepped through the door of the kitchen that led to the main area of the shoppe, he found himself rushing out of the front door of the place.

"Damn!" he yelled, turning to go back into the shoppe.

But when he crossed the threshold of the _front_ door, he found himself entering the kitchen again.

"What the hell?"

Hearing the front bell once more, he repeated the procedure.

Sitting unobserved by the confounded man and watching his "progress" through the illusory loop was the woman he had been chasing. In truth, her pursuer had never left the kitchen. He was being continuously apparated from a point in the kitchen just over the threshold to the outside of the shoppe's back door. What he perceived to be the front of the shoppe was part of the barrier charm his quarry had constructed for just this eventuality.

_Any time now_ , the witch thought, from her position on a stool by the pantry. She knew that soon, the blond, pock-marked wizard would exhaust himself from his "exertions."

When the wizard made what he thought was his seventh dash to the front of the shoppe, he found that it was daylight, and that the store was full of chatting patrons. He quickly stowed his wand, for the pastry cook's was not a wizarding establishment, and took a seat before anyone could notice his unusual behavior.

A mousy looking waitress startled him by asking, "What would you like, Sir?"

"Oh! I . . . I think biscuits—biscuits and tea—thank you."

"Of course," the girl replied easily. "Chocolate biscuits?"

"Yes, yes—anything."

_What the hell just happened_? _Where_ is _she_? _This is . . . this is . . . odd_ , the man thought grumpily after his second pot of tea and third plate of what had proved to be uncommonly delicious biscuits. Soon, he found that he was inordinately tired, and couldn't prevent his head from dipping to his chest . . . .

There were brown crumbs stuck to his mouth when he lifted his unkempt head off the bar of the tap of the Hangman's Noose in Knockturn Alley the next morning.

"Shite!"

"Drinkin' yer frustrations away?" another bleary eyed patron on the next stool asked, sizing up the other man with a leer.

"Shove off, you perv!" Gordon Macalister said gruffly. _Damn. How am I going to tell Mr. Zabini that I'm no closer to finding his niece_? he thought before paying his shot and exiting the pub.

The man had hired him to find the girl, who had apparently disobeyed her family's wishes and rejected their choice of husband for her.

_Finicky female trouble-maker, is what you are_! Macalister thought. _Glad I'm not going to have to marry you_!

Macalister had no memory of having ever been to Oxford.


	10. Familial Bonding

In Draco Malfoy's London study, Severus Snape was experiencing a similar sort of frustration.

"Damn and blast that woman!" he exclaimed, casting a sheet of parchment into the fire.

"I thought you were on better terms with your mother now," his godson replied, laying aside the journal he had been reading.

"It wasn't from Mother."

"Ah."

It was mid-June, and Severus had been receiving regular reports from the Squib investigator he'd hired to search for Harry since becoming a guest in Draco's home. He was staying with his godson for two reasons: one, it made it easier to be contacted by Augustine Marks, and two, he thought he should spend the summer getting to know the young man. Mercifully, Draco had not pried into his concerns, but when the Potions master heard his godson clear his throat expectantly, he knew his curiosity had finally gotten the better of him.

"So, what did your man have to say?"

"Nothing of consequence."

Draco raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Is he not competent?"

"He's Cracknuckle's best investigator, but it seems that Potter's been leaving false trails."

"Ah. Clever of her."

"Infuriating."

"There's always scrying to consider."

"Mother tried that already with a shard of Harry's old wand."

_Interesting that you would have had that sort of thing laying about_. "And how _is_ Azalea?"

Severus considered his response carefully before giving it. It's foolish to keep this from him. So in the name of familial bonding, he replied, "Impatient to meet my wife."

He was perversely pleased to see how much he'd discomposed Draco by his admission.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me clearly, Draco."

"Forgive me, Severus, but unless I slept through the past several years—"

"—you did not."

"Then how?"

Severus told him.

Too surprised by his godfather's news to hold his tongue, Draco asked, "Do you love her?"

"I never imagined you to be a romantic."

"Your situation is . . . unusual, I admit, but I can't think why else you'd be so . . . interested in finding Harry. Am I wrong?"

"You did hear me when I told you about the stabilizing draught, did you not?"

"Yes, of course, but . . . ."

Severus didn't hear his godson's words trail off into silence. He was considering his . . . relationship with Harry. They had never had an easy relationship, yet in the end, they had worked well together. There had been a strong, though inexplicable, bond between them in the brief months they'd partnered each other after Harry had graduated, Severus having been made part of the auror personnel responsible for training the new recruits. It had seemed natural, advisable, even, that he would work with the Girl Who Lived, despite their apparent dislike.

_Only I hadn't despised her for a very long time, by then_ , Severus mused, tracing the origins of his admiration for Harry to the events surrounding the change in her sex.

Draco had escaped his family's manor to report Potter's abduction by his father to Albus Dumbledore, and the headmaster had sent the boy back to his home with Severus to rescue Harry. Only when they found Harry, the elder Malfoy had already altered the boy's sex at the behest of the Dark Lord. The curse was a complicated one that would doom the child to transform from a male form to a female form and back again until the painful magics tore his body apart. Working with Tongish Oddfish in a fever of experimentation, the Potions master and the venerable wizard had at last developed the potion that had saved Potter's life.

"Potter," Snape had said, entering the curtained area of the infirmary in which the child had been resting since her rescue.

She had been curled up in a tight ball on her cot in a futile attempt to escape her constant agony.

It had been difficult for Severus to see her that way.

"Potter, I do not believe that we can wait for you to revert to your male state. You won't survive the transmogrification."

Shaking from the exertion, the child had raised her head. "I know. I know that I'm dying, Sir."

_"Sir."_ Potter's use of an honorific at such a time had touched the wizard.

"Harry . . . you misunderstand me. If you will allow it, I believe that I can save your life."

Albus had not wanted him to give Potter a choice, but on this point, Severus had remained firm—and Oddfish had concurred. To force a person to accept such a fundamental change to his—or _her_ —being was unconscionable. _And I will not violate Potter further than he has been without his consent_.

Harry seemed to understand. "Yes, Professor Snape, please. I want to live. Help me."

And so Severus had.

Watching the child develop into a strong young woman and a competent witch had been an education for the Potions master, who came to regret never having taught Harry to view him in light of a friend. But he did not regret his refusal to indulge his growing regard for the woman while she was his student, even though, at times, it had seemed to him that his advances would not have been unwelcome. 

Shortly before the Leaving Dance at the end of Harry's seventh year, however, Severus had convinced himself that it _would_ be appropriate to convey his gratitude to her for the kindness she had shown both his godson and Blaise Zabini since they had made their allegiance to Dumbledore known. Her acceptance of the two Slytherin students after their ostracization by most of their own House had led to their "adoption" by her Gryffindor friends.

It had always been easier for the wizard to keep an emotional distance between himself and his colleagues, but he was a grown man who did not _need_ the support and protection of friends. Still, he had hoped that by thanking Harry, it would allow him to develop a stronger . . . professional relationship with the witch as she began her auror training. And once she was no longer his student . . . .

The irony of discovering how alike he and Harry truly were had been a bitter lesson for Severus. It seemed that the student knew more about circumspection and love than anyone had ever taught the teacher.

"And now . . . now," he murmured.

"Now, _what_?" Draco asked, breaking his godfather's reverie.

"What did you ask me?"

Draco hastily retrieved the journal he had been reading. "I wonder if you could possibly tell me whose handwriting this is in Father's book, here, in the margins?" he asked, handing the book to Severus, and not pressing for an answer to his earlier question.

It wasn't necessary to hear it.

Severus was grateful for the other man's discretion. "The concept of family . . . ."

"Is a difficult one for both of us, I know. But I'm glad you trust me enough to . . . ."

"Share?"

"Yes."

"We've spent far too much time of late in the Weasley household, I fear."

Draco blushed.

"Indeed, _Miss_ Weasley seems to be exerting a most profound influence over you."

"Don't smirk. _You're_ the one she's persuaded to tutor her in firebranch draughts, despite the fact that you're on . . . vacation."

"One likes to encourage promising students," the Potions master replied, raising one eyebrow in mock irritation. "And it helps pass the time, while I . . . wait."

"Don't worry, Godfather. If your clan-brother recommended Marks, I'm certain he's up to the task of finding Harry."

"Do not humor me."

"I'm not. . . . I miss her, as well."

Without further discussion on the subject of Harry, the two men turned their attention to the matter of Lucius' research assistant. It was disturbing to both of them to think that there might be an individual who had access to the kind of knowledge that would allow him or her to construct an Avada Kedavra bomb.


	11. Charm and Misdirection

_He's not usually the reading sort_ , Augustine Marks thought. _Not by half_. . . . _It's a bad sign_.

The man was sitting by the window in his favorite Oxfordian haunt, the Snapdragon, nursing a pot of tea and considering his least-promising case.

After posting a report to Snape the previous day, he had gone to the Hall of Records where he had spied Gordon Macalister, one of Giancarlo Zabini's retainers, sifting through birth certificates. Augustine had wanted to look at the certificates, as well, but it wouldn't have done to reveal that to the thick-skulled Macalister.

Snape had not authorized him to look into Potter's background, but Augustine found it easier to find a subject when he knew why he or she had gone missing.

 _And it's odd that a society girl like Parkinson would end an engagement over a bad habit_.

Marks knew that there was a reason other than drunkenness behind the business, and, once he'd been able to discretely examine the public records related to the Zabini-Potter "divorce," it had been a quick intuitive leap to the theory he was currently considering.

 _No Sealing Ceremony, that_ has _to be it because I know neither party contested the separation. Harry Potter was pregnant. But who was the father_?

For if it had been her husband, matters would have been settled appropriately.

Thinking of Snape, Marks forbore making any further intuitive leaps. There were several reasons that the Potions master might be interested in finding Potter—even the one the man had stated seemed plausible.

 _Though I doubt it's her_ blood _he's after_.

"You look like a jilted lover, Augie," Ree Gardener, his favorite waitress, said cheerfully, setting a plate of chocolate biscuits down in front of him. "Want to talk about it?"

It unnerved the man how the girl always seemed to hone in so closely on his thoughts.

"No time to be jilted—I'm working a case."

"Then I won't disturb you."

It was almost closing time, and the man often spent the end of his workday chatting up the affable, pretty young woman.

"Now, I didn't say I didn't have time to talk, did I?"

Ree sat down and looked at him expectantly.

"I'm afraid I'm stuck."

"Well, I know you're giving it your best."

He leered flirtatiously at her. "I always _do_ , luv."

"It's a shame, that's what," Ree said, shaking her head. "Flirting on your client's time—no wonder you're not making any progress on your _case_."

"I'd rather be making progress with you. Tell me something about yourself."

Ree laughed. "Persistent bugger, aren't you? Right then—as you know, the life of our favorite waitress is a complex tale of tea cups and experimental tarragon scones, library books and essays—"

"—charm and misdirection."

It was an old game of theirs, and one Augustine enjoyed playing—even if he had no real intentions in Ree's direction.

"Why don't you like to talk about yourself, woman?"

"Augie, we can't all lead the exciting life you do, now can we?"

"And dead languages don't excite you?"

"Don't mock me. All the good stories have already been written. I'm just trying to figure them out."

"How are you going to make a living on Latin and Greek?"

"Ancient Greek."

"As you say," the man replied, rolling his eyes.

"You may have heard of a little institution called the British Museum," Ree retorted with feigned irritation before the laugh lines around her eyes crinkled up.

"But wouldn't it be more fun to _make_ history instead of cataloguing it?"

The woman's face darkened swiftly. "No. . . . I'll leave that sort of enterprise to dashing sorts like _you_ , Augie."

"Right. I can't even find my subject." _The woman I'm looking for doesn't wish to be found, much like you_.

Ree narrowed her eyes as if concentrating, and Augustine briefly entertained the idea that she was reading his mind.

"But that's impossible."

"I'm sure it isn't. She probably has a good reason for wanting to remain _un_ found—you _are_ working your missing girl case, right?"

"I am. I don't suppose that you'd care to share some feminine insights on the subject of secretive women?"

"Perhaps."

"Good gods—God! Could it be that you're actually going to tell me something about yourself?"

"Only out of concern for your beleaguered girl, I assure you. I've my reasons for being . . . circumspect."

"Let's have them."

"Let's just say that my family wanted me to be someone I'm not, and they were difficult to deny. I left home so that I would be free to make my own choices."

 _So, you're a society girl, are you_?

Augustine was relieved. He'd half expected Ree to impart some sordid tale of abuse at the hands of her husband; he'd seen what looked like a wedding band on a chain around her neck. But it seemed more likely that she was merely from a posh background and had balked at the demands of her social-climbing family.

"Are you telling me that you're eighty-ninth in line for the throne, then?"

"Not anything like that, but I _was_ supposed to . . . marry properly. I elected not to."

 _The ring must've been her mother's_. "Ah, so you _are_ a 'nob!"

The girl's laughter at his little joke was flattering, but unusually excessive.

"Not anymore, Augie."

"In case it matters even a jot to you, I assure you that there is nothing remotely blue about my blood."

"And that _is_ a comfort, but it won't help your . . . case any. Have you considered that the woman you're trying to find is hiding for some other reason than avoiding her family's disapproval?"

Augustine nodded. What Ree said was, in a sense, true. But he could not possibly explain Harry Potter to this Muggle woman. _Though I'd like to, really. Ree would find it fascinating, Britain's other history_.

"Well, I expect I'll just have to keep looking for her and hope for the best. The next time I speak with my client—who I assure you is not the ogre you imagine him to be—I think I'll bring him here."

"Why?"

"Because I'm going to have to give up this case if I can't find any new leads, and it might quell the man's . . . disappointment if he has a bite or two of your magnificent chocolate biscuits."

Ree smiled at the man's compliment. "You let me know when you're bringing him 'round, and I'll bake a batch just for the occasion."

***

Some days later, when Marks _did_ meet Snape at the Snapdragon, it was to find that Ree Gardener was no longer working there.

But she _had_ left a box of biscuits for him.

"Oh, and Augie!" Betsy, the owner, called before the man could return to his table, "Ree left you this, too."

It was a letter.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Marks?" the Potions master asked when the man finally joined him at their table.

"No, a friend of mine—" Augustine began to say, but stopped when he realized that Snape couldn't give a toss.

Setting the envelope down on the table, he was surprised when his client snapped it up.

"What—"

"—forgive me, Marks. I'm familiar with the handwriting on this envelope," Snape told him, ripping it open with no further ceremony.

"But how is that possib—"

Something in Augustine's mind went whir, click, snap.

"Ree Gardener . . . is Harry Potter?"

"It would appear so."

Snape handed the letter to the investigator, who quickly read:

> Dear Augie,
> 
> I'm sorry to run off without a word. It's a bad habit of mine. After our talk, I realized that there was something I needed to do for a friend. I've been trying to put my past—and the people in my old life—so far behind me that it never occurred to me to that I might be of some use to some of them, even if I couldn't ask them to help me. I'm a horrid git.
> 
> On that cryptic note, I'll say goodbye, and tell you how much I'll miss our chats. Don't forget me, you old flirt.
> 
> Fondly,
> 
> Ree

_And I'm a_ stupid _git. No wonder she was always willing to listen to me drone on about my bleeding cases_!

Snape considered the man, laying a restraining hand on Marks' arm as he made to pull a chocolate biscuit out of the box he had just opened. "Don't eat any of those."

"Why not?"

Snape didn't answer. Instead, he withdrew a small, black bottle from his jacket, unstoppered it, and spilled a drop of clear fluid on one of the biscuits. The chocolate brown of the biscuit turned white and then the entire cookie crumbled.

"It wasn't poisoned, was it?"

"No," Snape said, replacing the stopper in the bottle before placing it in his pocket. "I believe your . . . waitress has been plying you with some form of compulsion potion in order to direct your investigations."

"I am an idiot. I apologize, Sir, sincerely. There's no excuse for my incom—"

Severus closed the box of chocolate biscuits and pulled it toward himself. "—your lack of care has merely illustrated how Potter has, at least in part, managed to evade detection. I find that most useful, but now I would like to know why it was that you arranged this meeting."

The man hastily explained about his discovery of Macalister at the Hall of Records, and why he had visited that place.

"You will see to it that this person is made aware of those 'leads' that you followed earlier to keep him occupied, and you will cease to pry into Miss Potter's life."

 _You mean_ your _life, don't you_? Augustine asked silently. "Of course, Sir, but I imagine that Zabini will not give up searching for Potter so easily, and he has other . . . resources."

"That is my concern. You have your instructions."

With that, the Potions master took his leave of the investigator, almost certain of where Harry would next go. He made his way to a wizarding social club not far from the Snapdragon, and again made use of its floo.

"St. Mungo's," he said, tossing a handful of powder into the fire.

He felt rather unsettled, and had ever since he had held Harry's letter to Marks.

 _It was almost as if she was there_ with _me_.

Meanwhile, back at the Snapdragon, "Betsy" was humming to herself, well-pleased by what she had overheard, but feeling oddly empty since Severus had left.

She had not felt so lonely since her few solitary months of hiding on a magical node of power in France, near the abandoned fishing village Draco had told her he used to visit with his parents when it was still a picturesque, working town. It had hidden Voldemort once. And that had convinced the witch that she would be safe there.

 _Only I couldn't get away from myself,_ she thought, out of habit checking the interior metaphysical barrier with which she had surrounded the seething ball of . . . whatever it was of the Dark Lord that still dwelt inside her mind.

It was all well and good to access his knowledge of ancient languages.

 _But it wouldn't do to let anything else out,_ she thought, remembering how difficult _not_ doing so had been before her self-imposed exile to France.


	12. A Map and Machinations

When Gordon Macalister, looking gaunt and disgruntled, entered the apothecary in Knockturn Alley, the shoppe was empty save for a hag at the back counter who was scooping henbane from a bin into a leather bag. She looked up from her task to peer at the man, and then laughed at him for making a hasty sign against the Evil Eye.

"You'll take _anyone's_ money, won't you?" Macalister asked the owner.

"Gold is gold. What d'ye want?" Poddlum demanded.

Gordon handed the man his list.

The old man whistled between his two teeth. "And it looks like ye'll be partin' with a tidy amount o' _yours_."

"Can you get that merchandise for me, or not?"

"Most of it's here, but I'll need payment upfront for that last item."

"Fifty percent upfront."

"Seventy percent."

" _Forty_ ," Macalister said in irritation.

"Eighty, and right _now_ , or no deal."

Grumbling, Macalister laid eight galleons on the counter before the proprietor.

"What's _that_?"

"Your eighty percent."

"What are ye playin' at? The kind of scrying mirror yer wantin' be _one hundred_ galleons, not _ten_."

"Since _when_?"

"Since the demned Ministry banned that sort of magical item without a permit for its use, is when."

"I don't have that kind of money on me!"

"Then come back when ye _do_ ," Poddlum said, lighting a pipe and exhaling a stream of cherry-scented tobacco into the other man's face.

Gordon scooped his coins up and left the shop with a scowl.

"That's the young for ye," the hag said to Poddlum as she hobbled up to the front counter with her goods.

"What's it to ye?"

"Double if you'll give the whelp _this_ mirror when he comes back."

She handed Poddlum a small black disc.

"You an auror?"

The hag cackled. "Circe, no! Just a friend of that one's mother."

"So why d'ye want to give the boy a doctored scryin' mirror?"

"'Tain't no business of yourn."

"'Tis if'n'ye want me to give it to 'im."

"Drop a bit o' your ash on it and see fer yerself, then."

Poddlum tapped the bowl of his pipe onto the mirror, which began to shriek after a moment's contact with the hot ash.

"Visit yer mum, ye ungrateful blighter! Go home! Visit yer mu—"

"—make it stop, woman!"

The hag spat on the mirror, and the mirror stopped its tirade.

"Yer an evil old crone, ain't ye? Got the gold?"

The hag counted out the coins with maddening slowness, but the proprietor's appreciation for her care grew as the stack of gold became taller. "Here now, you just take yer herbs and such with the compliments of Poddlum's Necessities, Mother," the man told her, being careful not to blow smoke at her.

When she left, he locked his shoppe for the day and went out, for there were plenty of "young" witches to drink with—and young fools to cheat—at the Hangman's Noose if a man had blunt to sport.

***

Harry waited until she was well away from the apothecary's before altering her glamour to that of a young girl and proceeding to Honeydukes. It was a Hogsmeade weekend, and there were several Hogwarts students crushed into the sweet shoppe. No one noticed her slip into the basement, and no one, apparently, had discovered the tunnel that led from town to the school.

"I'm never eating cherries again! _Lumos_!" Harry said in a ridiculously childish tone of voice. _And I'm glad_ I _don't work for Giancarlo_.

The lingering traces of Cruciatus had been emanating from Macalister in angry waves.

The passageway was empty and damp, but Harry had no trouble lighting the torch she conjured once she had progressed far enough in the tunnel. Causing the torch to levitate above her with a word, she set her pack down and removed a palm-sized cauldron from it, tapping the container with her wand until it had grown to the required size. Next, she called up a fire, and began to arrange her purchases in the order in which she would use them.

"I never thought anything I learned from you would be useful," she said quietly, addressing the store of Voldemort's knowledge locked in her mind that she had come to refer to by that wizard's name.

Harry shuddered. It had been difficult to know much of what that wizard had known and done; in fact, she still hadn't truly "catalogued" all of the information at her disposal, but if any of it could help Bill . . . .

The potion had to reduce by half, once all of the ingredients had been added to it, and the thought of waiting made the witch nervous. "I wish I still had Sirius' map."

"I don't doubt it, you rascal," the voice of Argus Filch answered her before he became visible.

"How did you know that I was here?"

"I got yer godfather's map, now don't I?"

"What do you want?" asked Harry, surreptitiously grasping her wand.

"Don't excite yourself. It's not as if you'll be getting a detention, now is it, girl?"

"I asked you a question, Filch. What do you want?"

"Peeves."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Been doin' that for years, haven't I? I said Peeves, Potter. You heard me well enough. I want him banished—for my silence."

_What makes you think I need to trade favors with the likes of you_? a voice in Harry's head asked. 

She ignored it, fighting the black roll of vicious anger that crested through her body. She had practiced this sort of restraint for some time. To relieve the tension, she giggled. Filch looked at her oddly, and it was then that the witch remembered that she was still enchanted to look like a young girl.

Clearing her throat, she dropped her glamour, and said, "If I'm going to sneak about above ground, then I'll want the Marauders Map, one of the faster practice brooms from the Quidditch equipment shed, and a favor in return. Do you remember Bill Weasley?"

"Of course I do."

"This potion is for him. Would you take it to St. Mungo's for me?"

"You'd trust me with it?" Filch asked in genuine surprise.

"Why not? I trusted you with Hedwig, didn't I?"

"That you did."

When the Owlery had exploded during Harry's seventh year—"no one had ever discovered how the accident" had happened—Filch had found Hedwig, who had been badly burned and had broken a wing, and had nursed the owl back to health, much to the witch's surprise. She remembered the man telling her that he had kept the bird's status a secret, "in case the poor thing died. I didn't want you to have to lose your familiar twice, like," for all the students with owls had thought their birds had died.

Before Harry had left for auror training, she had temporarily given Hedwig into Filch's care, and had again returned her to him when she decided to leave the Wizarding World.

"She's in fine feather, in case you were wondering," Filch continued.

"I'm sure she is. Thank you, Mr. Filch."

"You're welcome, Mrs.—Miss—what _do_ you call yourself, now, anyway?"

"Harry. Just Harry."

"We've got a deal then, Harry."

***

About the same time that the witch was flying through the upper corridors of Hogwarts after Peeves, Argus Filch was arriving at St. Mungo's to meet with Ron Weasley, "on a matter of the greatest importance."

The poltergeist looked as shocked to see Harry as Ron had been to receive Argus' letter, and the potion the man himself brought with him to the hospital.

"Sorry about this," Ron and Harry said at the same moment—the wizard to his eldest brother as he poured the draught down Bill's throat, and the witch to Peeves before explaining the restrictions she was about to place on his movement.

It was a simple matter, really, to enchant the ghost to remain within the boundaries of Professor Trelawney's tower (an idea that Fred and George had cooked up, but had never had occasion to attempt), just as it was for Harry's potion to revive Bill from the silent incarceration under which he had suffered within the borders of his mind.

Of course, the actions of that morning had consequences. As Bill began to surface from the nightmare in which he had been "living," he was finally able to give voice to his fears, just as Sybil's shrieks began to echo throughout her chambers in response to the havoc Peeves was wreaking there.

"Bill, Bill!" Ron exclaimed. "It's me, your brother—Ron! You're safe. You're back. It's all right, Bill."

"My dear Sybil, I cannot imagine how this occurred," Albus said upon returning to the castle and finding his Divination professor in tears in his office.

"Let me enlighten you," Severus Snape said angrily, pushing a worried-looking Argus Filch before him.

Harry, meanwhile, was waiting impatiently in the tunnel for Argus to return and tell her how Bill had fared. But when she consulted her map and saw that the man was in Dumbledore's office—with Severus—she decided to leave.

And she would have done so at once, had not the sudden tumbling of earth closing the exits to the passageway prevented her.


	13. Great Goblin Hospitality

A pale yellow light spilled through the newly dug portal in what had been the side of the Honeydukes-Hogwarts tunnel. Outlined in the steady stream of light was the shape of a squat figure holding an alarmingly large pick-axe.

"Out of the way, digger!" a rough voice insisted.

Harry, her wand drawn, saw that it belonged to a well-dressed goblin as the being approached her.

"Greetings, Vanquisher!" the goblin said before making a deep bow.

The witch stared at him in astonishment.

Rising, the being said, "Pardon the rude manner in which I have imposed my presence upon you. I am Cracknuckle, fifth son of Breakneck, third son of Twistarm, and the Voice of the Bones Family of the Ruling Clan of the Goblinate."

_And that should mean something to me, shouldn't it_? thought Harry, wishing that she had paid more attention in her History of Magic class. "Um . . . I'm Harry James, once-son of James Albert, son of . . . well, I'm afraid that I don't know my grandfather's name, Sir."

The digging goblin hissed in shock, only to be rewarded by a punch to his head by his superior that almost knocked him off of his feet.

"Back to the Hall, digger!" ordered Cracknuckle. "Forgive him, once-son of James Albert," the goblin told her, clearly intending to ameliorate any offence by the use of Harry's title. "He is only a digger."

"And an impressive one, at that," Harry replied quickly, not wanting to add to the digger's troubles. "Did you just call me 'Vanquisher'?"

"Your deeds are much talked of in the Great Goblin Hall, wife of Snape, and you are known as the wiliest member of the Gift Clan. It is an honor to stand before you."

"Wife? Of Snape? What are you talking about, Cracknuckle?"

"Vanquisher," the goblin said, unable to restrain his mirth, "your humor is _not_ known, but I shall tell the tale as soon as you have been made welcome below."

"So you mean to kidnap me?"

Cracknuckle spat upon the ground. "Curse me for the offense of the digger! We _have_ offended you!"

Harry lowered her wand, again wishing that she had paid more attention to Professor Binns' class. _I have no idea what is going on here, but I'd better_. . . . "No, you haven't offended me, but I don't quite understand what it is that you want with me—and how did you find me, anyway?"

"You are under the earth, clan-sister," Cracknuckle said, as if his answer should make everything clear. Seeing that it had not, he continued, "All movements here are known to us, Vanquisher. But time is short. Foreign beasts sift through the earth even now, defiling our territory in their search for you. We must repair this breach," he said, laying a hand on the edge of the new corridor, "and return to the safety of the Hall."

"'Foreign beasts'? Do you mean gob—"

"—I mean _beasts_ ," Cracknuckle spat as the tunnel again began to vibrate. "Hurry!"

Without thinking about it further, Harry raced after the goblin into the new passage and saw that digging goblins were feverishly working to close the tunnel behind them. Eventually, the vibrations stopped, and the pale yellow light grew more vibrant. Harry and Cracknuckle finally emerged into a large earthen chamber. There were about fifty tunnels leading from it, all apparently reinforced and gated, but one of them was not barred.

"This way, please," her guide said, ignoring the diggers who were racing past them from the open door.

The corridor they entered was inlaid with gleaming tan stone, and at the end of it, a massive metal door stood open. It was guarded by twelve goblins standing abreast and each wearing what Harry surmised to be different military uniforms.

_I_ really _should have paid more attention in school._

"Hail, Vanquisher!" the guards exclaimed, holding aloft gilt pick-axes of more reasonable size and parting to permit the witch and Cracknuckle to enter.

The Great Goblin Hall was not well-served by its name.

"This is magnificent!" Harry told Cracknuckle as she tried to take in the vast space, which she quickly realized wasn't possible to do.

"I thank you, Vanquisher. I am honored to have your approval of our works," the Voice of the Goblinate told her as he led her down a winding staircase that had been carved from the same stone she'd seen in the tunnels leading to the Hall. "In the Heart, you shall take meat and mead with me, and tell me of your plans."

_Then I'd best make some_.

The Heart was an intricately carved stone garden of statuary that wound from the floor of the chamber to the ceiling. At least Harry assumed that they did; she could not see how far the statue-pillars rose, as the diffuse light that glowed from the stonework coalesced to form a ball of light, like an interior sun of sorts, at some point above them.

"Ah, you are wondering about the light, I see."

"Yes, it's so clear, but it doesn't glare."

"Merlin blessed our works that they shine upon us always. It is the only wizarding magic that is permitted here."

Goblins of all descriptions and occupations bowed to Harry as she passed them, and when she and Cracknuckle sat down at a table in the Heart, one bearing food and drink served them immediately. Taking her cue from the other goblins eating, Harry did not talk as she ate the simple but delicious meal of roast beef and sweet wine.

"Food is for eating, Vanquisher," her host told her after swallowing his last morsel, "and we do not, as you see, prize conversation while at meat."

"Thank you for your hospitality. May I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Why is it that you believe me to be married to Severus?"

"Because the stone behind which your child is laid bears his name."

"What?" Harry asked so vehemently that Cracknuckle sat back.

"Forgive me, Vanquisher. Was this done in error? The memorial was altered after Lily Peace Potter was visited by Friend Snape and the mother of Minister Weasley's fifth son's child. Did you not direct that this be done?"

_Hermione's pregnant_? _She took Severus to the Hall of Monuments?_ She _changed the marking stone? But that must mean . . . oh,_ thank Merlin! _Oh_! _No_ wonder _Severus is looking for me_!

"Vanquisher? Are you well?"

"Forgive me, Cracknuckle. It's just . . . that I did not know who . . . my child's father was," Harry whispered, uncertain as to how the goblin would take the information.

The being's craggy face softened in embarrassed understanding before hardening again in anger. _She did not lay the child in the tomb of her wizard husband, so_. . . . "You gave much of yourself to end the war. . . . That need _never_ be known."

"Thank you for that."

"Never thank me, clan-sister. All honor is due you, all respect. But I must speak to you now of the tracking beasts from the Roman earth. I do not understand the ways of wizards, but I fear that your family," Cracknuckle said, looking as though he wanted to spit, "has sent them to search for you."

"Giancarlo Zabini, yes."

The goblin did spit, then. "Yes! An evil wizard that you did—that is—your _people_ did not kill, clan-sister. I meant no disrespect."

Harry sighed. "I don't understand the ways of wizards, either, my friend."

The goblin preened visibly at the honor the witch had bestowed upon him.

"And I don't enjoy killing, which is why . . . tell me, is Giancarlo Zabini still attempting to establish his own bank?"

"Yes, curse him! He would undo the Accords for his own purposes!"

"This may shock you, but I've been . . . I left to hide from him, so that I would not have to kill him."

Cracknuckle bowed his head before collecting his thoughts to speak. "To run is not our way, and that one has long needed killing—but you are tired of war, yes? Women—even those with a great warrior's heart—often grow tired of conflict."

" _People_ do—even goblins, I expect."

"Indeed, you speak the truth, though my kind accepts peace made through strength more readily than politics."

"Cracknuckle, I'm not an executioner, and I have no proof that would send Zabini to Azkaban."

"The laws of wizards irritate me, clan-sister, though I obey Merlin's Compromise."

"The Wizard-Goblin Accords have kept the peace for centuries."

"Wizards seem to forget that, of late. Were it not for the _law_ , my people would have long ago mixed Giancarlo Zabini's bone dust into mortar."

Harry shuddered as she realized that the bone dust of, perhaps, _hundreds_ of wizards were now holding in place the stones of the Great Goblin Hall. _We need this peace to hold. There are too few of us, too many of them . . . ._

Cracknuckle chuckled as if he understood her mind. "Do not trouble yourself. They were not of _your_ line, Vanquisher."

"My line. Cracknuckle, am I to understand that goblins view marriage as being between two people who have . . . ."

"Made a child? Yes, that is so."

The goblin explained to Harry Severus' connection to the Ruling Clan, and something of the workings of goblin government.

"And so, as Friend Snape is the Father of the Snape Family, which rules the Gift Clan, so you are its Mother."

"And as a member of the Goblinate, my Family, because we lead the Gift Clan, would have a say in the Goblinate?"

"Yes. Your clan's vote would be one in the now thirteen clans of the Goblinate, of which the Bones Family is the head. My Family rules and speaks for all of the clans."

"The Ruling Clan sends someone to Wizard Parliament?" Harry asked, remembering this from class.

"Yes."

"And does the voice have to come from the Ruling Clan?" Harry asked, making plans.

For the first time in years, she found herself feeling hopeful.


	14. Negotiating Customs

The news of Bill Weasley's miraculous recovery was on the front page of the Daily Prophet the next morning, and the Wizarding Wireless Service was buzzing with pundits essaying possible explanations for it. Thus far, Minister Weasley had issued only a brief statement of thanks to the public for the expressions of goodwill his family had received, but had not provided any details about his eldest son's condition.

Arthur, though overjoyed by Bill's improvement, had been forced to leave that young man's side to attend to Ministry matters. He was currently in a meeting with a representative of the Muggle government, a man who spoke for the queen of his people.

"Her Majesty is most concerned about recent developments, Minister Weasley, and has asked me to convey to you her continued support of Gringotts. She feels that to permit the establishment of a new financial institution in Britain's Wizarding society might very well undermine both its stability and the security of all her realm."

Arthur did not bristle at the other man's assumption that his government was part of the Muggle queen's. When Fudge had explained to him about the connection between the Muggle royals and Merlin, and of how every wizarding minister had negotiated with whomever ruled the Muggle part of the isles since the incorporation of Wizard Parliament, he had been stunned. Such a situation ran counter to everything he had ever known about his culture, but he understood the pragmatic nature of the unsigned agreement.

_There are far fewer of us than there are of them_. "I understand, Ambassador Bowles, yet it is not in my power to prevent our parliament from voting on the proposal, and the idea of the bank has taken hold of my people's imagination."

"I see. Will there be some formal debate on the proposal?"

"Yes, in August."

"I trust that you intend to speak against it?"

"Of course."

"I have another concern, one that touches on the possible influence of the Wizarding governments of France and Italy on members of your Great Houses."

"I am aware that . . . outside interests are attempting to sway members of parliament to vote for the establishment of the Wizard Bank of Merlin, Sir."

"What are you doing about it?"

"Ambassador, that question borders on the impertinent."

"Forgive me, Minister Weasley. I only meant to—"

"—you may convey my regards to Queen Elizabeth on behalf of her . . . friends in the Wizarding realm, Sir," Arthur said firmly, rising from his chair, "and assure her that I am doing all I can to persuade the citizens of _my_ corner of Britain to see sense."

"Her Majesty will not tolerate foreign powers acting upon her soil," Ambassador Bowles replied haughtily, though he rose, as well.

"Neither will I, Sir."

"Excellent."

The two men shook hands, and Arthur walked his guest to the door.

"It's a pity that your parliament remains open only to the heads of the Great Houses, Sir. Popular opinion would go a long way toward swaying the vote of the One Hundred, you know."

"Indeed I do, which is why I intend to make the debates open to the public."

"That is good to know, Sir!"

"I'm pleased you approve," Arthur replied dryly. "Our system of government is somewhat antiquated," he said pointedly, "but it has served us tolerably well. The Muggle world has no idea of its magical neighbors because of it."

"This is," Bowles remarked as he stepped through the door, "largely true. Your Merlin laid the foundations, and our Queen Elizabeth—the first Elizabeth—established several policies between our peoples that have greatly aided in keeping the existence of the magical inhabitants of this realm a secret."

_Oh, good. You've done your homework_. "And I'm certain that my people would appreciate the support of the Muggle queen if they knew about her interest in keeping them safe, of course."

"But that would never do."

"No, it would not."

"Nor would it be wise to see civil war come to wizard-kind."

"I assure you, Ambassador Bowles, I am very clear on that point. Good day to you, Sir." _I hope to Merlin that it doesn't come to that. I've seen enough of war_.

***

When Harry woke up on her fourth morning in her rooms in the Great Goblin Hall, it was to find yet more heavy leather volumes being added to the books in her study.

"Good morning," she said to a goblin, who looked much like any Gringott's employee she had ever seen, who was adding to her growing research library.

"Vanquisher. I have brought a history of your father's line, and also several books on the laws of the clans, their history, and etiquette, as you requested."

"I didn't ask for the genealogy."

"No. Brother Cracknuckle suggested that you might find it useful."

"Thank him for me, please."

"Of course. When you have eaten, there is a deputation of thigh-mistresses from Sister Gnashstrangle to see you. She is the wife of Cracknuckle, and would attend you herself, save that her pregnancy prevents it."

The witch knew that the clerk was being polite. She'd learned from her reading that a pregnant goblin abhorred the company of any female of breeding age who had failed to birth a live child. Goblins had great difficulty during pregnancy, and were very superstitious about the process.

"I'll join them directly, Brother . . . ."

"Sharpclaw, Vanquisher. I am at your service."

"Thank you. Sharpclaw?"

"Yes, Vanquisher?"

"Could I possibly persuade you to call me Harry?"

"As you wish, Mother Harry."

" _Sister_ Harry."

"As you wish, clan-sister Harry."

_Well, that's a start_ , the witch thought, grateful for the clan affiliation that made the goblin so ready to abandon more formal titles.

"Clan-sister Harry?"

"Yes, clan-brother Sharpclaw?"

"Cracknuckle has asked me to convey to you that Friend Snape is concerned about you."

"Does . . . does Severus know that I'm here?"

"Not yet—that is, _no_ —but the Voice of the Bones Family is compelled to speak to Friend Snape of what he knows about your whereabouts, should our clan-brother ask him directly. Cracknuckle would like to know if you would like to contact your husband," Sharpclaw said, looking rather uncomfortable.

"Please ask Brother Cracknuckle to join me in the Heart for the midday meal if he is able to do so."

"He will certainly be able to do so, Sister Harry."

"Excellent."

Sharpclaw seemed grateful to leave her then, and Harry ate rapidly so that she would not keep the thigh-mistresses waiting long.

"Oh, Vanquisher! You are known to us. Mother Gnashstrangle had bidden us to prepare you for the Gathering of the Clans."

"Prepare me?"

"Yes. Your Family must have a clan crest and colors."

"Forgive me. You are?"

"She asks our names!" a young-looking thigh-mistress squealed.

The older goblin woman who had first spoken to Harry smacked the excited girl on the back of her head. "Be silent! The Vanquisher is teasing us."

"No, I am _not_. I wish to know your names, so that I don't have to address you by your . . . function."

All three of the goblin ladies-in-waiting gasped in astonishment and pride.

Harry addressed the spokesgoblin of the three. "You are?"

"Sineweaver, and this is Marrowmasher," she said, indicating the goblin who had not yet spoken. "Tonguepuller has made herself known to you," she continued in a disapproving tone.

"Tell me, Sineweaver, do you not give your clan affiliation because you serve the Mother of the Bones Clan?"

"Oh, _no_ , Vanquisher. We are but thigh-mistresses. Our lineage matters not."

_Hermione would be incensed_ , Harry thought. I'm _incensed_. "Well, it matters to _me_."

"See!" Tonguepuller exclaimed. "I _told_ you the Vanquisher would be diff—ow!"

"Sineweaver! I do not wish for you to cuff a clan-sister for speaking."

The goblin looked thoroughly shocked. Marrowmasher spoke to cover her clan-sister's confusion.

"We are sisters, Friend Harry. Daughters of Razortooth, wife of Cracknuckle."

"Wouldn't that make you daughters of—wait—Cracknuckle has _two_ wives?"

"No, our mother has left us, Vanquisher," Sineweaver answered. "Gnashstrangle is our father's second wife."

"Oh, I see. I'm very sorry for your loss."

"We did not lose her, Friend Harry. She _died_ ," Marrowmasher said, appearing confused.

"It is a wizarding custom, you gum-muncher, to express condolences."

"Sineweaver," Harry said patiently, "please, would you refrain from cuffing and the use of expletives?"

She had learned that "gum-muncher" was as foul a term to goblins as "mudblood" was to wizards.

"As you wish."

"Now then, is it customary for a clan-mother to select her crest and colors without the participation of her husband?"

"Give her the box, Tonguepuller," Marrowmasher instructed.

The young goblin did so, and Harry opened it to reveal an intricate silver ring, wrought to represent a pair of coiling serpents. One had glowing green gems set into it as eyes, the other black stones which seemed to shine, and when the witch touched it, the snakes slithered through their coils in a seamless circular movement.

"This is very fine. But what is it?"

"The Sigil of Authorization of the Snape Family of the Gift Clan. We expected that you would want your crest to be of the same design. Would that please you?" Sineweaver asked.

"Yes, and I think that our family's colors should be black and green."

"Yes, the green of your eyes," Marrowmasher said approvingly. "It will be done."

Tonguepuller clasped her hands together in excitement, reminding Harry powerfully of Dobby.

"Yes?"

"I can't wait to start sewing!"

"Yes," said Sineweaver, gracing her sister with a look of fondness before turning to Harry. "Have you your husband's measurements?"

The question caught the witch off-guard.

"Just the one," she said before she could stop herself.

The goblin ladies giggled in appreciative amusement.

"Perhaps you would like us to send for the Protector?" Sineweaver asked.

_Ah, Severus has another fancy title, I see_.

"I'll know more about my . . . husband's plans later this afternoon."

After Cracknuckle's daughters had left her, Harry found herself feeling uneasy again, but not completely because she was nervous about seeing Severus. There was a great deal to do to prepare herself for the battle to come. Only this time, she'd be fighting in the political arena.

_I've gone completely nutters, haven't I?_

Her plan was to parlay her clan affiliation and the respect in which the goblin's held her to be appointed the Voice of the Goblinate, so that she could address the members of Wizard Parliament—and cast a vote there. Harry knew that, in the forthcoming debate of that assembly, her opinion would be influential to both the general wizarding population and the heads of the Great Houses who would vote on the proposed bank.

_But what they are truly voting on has nothing to do with finances_ , Harry told herself. _I've got to do what I can to avoid further bloodshed among my people_. . . . _All of my people_.


	15. A Prelude to Politics

Armtwister dragged the dead wizard from his "master's" sight, relieved that the failings of this servant had deflected Zabini's anger from the disgrace of his clan. _Spinedancer will not understand it if I die on this island_ , he thought, feeling again that he should never have agreed to come to this place of strange, shining stone and chalky earth. _And the magic stinks even as deeply under the earth as I am in these caverns_.

He left the corpse in an earthen room that was filled with bones as he had been directed to do before returning to the main chamber.

"You," Master Zabini ordered. "Come here and tell me again how this is possible."

"Your witch must be with the Friends of Merlin," Armtwister explained. "Those goblins must have prevented my clan-brothers from apprehending the one known beneath this earth as the Vanquisher."

"Can you lead what remains of your clan-brothers close enough to their hole to place the devices?"

"I will try, but—"

"—you will _do_ it, or I'll use your bones as mortar to seal what is left of your useless clan into the chamber you just visited! I cannot believe that Throatripper sent me such as you to aid my efforts!"

"We will not fail you, wizard."

_You'd better not_ , Zabini thought, as he watched the cowed goblins take up their bombs and leave. _If the vote does not go my way, the destruction of Gringotts will certainly sway the minds of my noble peers_.

Gringotts was constructed over the Great Goblin Hall, and lay not far from the Ministry of Magic. 

Giancarlo had decided that, in addition to visiting the heads of the One Hundred, his preparations for the debate should also include planning for the defeat of his proposal.

_If one cannot make people see sense, then one had better insure that they see nothing, ever again_.

And since it seemed that he could not secure his nephew's bride before the debates, killing her seemed like a more than reasonable course of action to the wizard.

Zoroastrid, who had entered her husband's laboratory while he was in the process of murdering Gordon Macalister, coughed delicately.

"Yes, my love?"

"Darling, we have a visitor."

The wizard took his wife into his arms. "This person must be very important indeed for you to have interrupted my work."

"The Widow Snape has come to call, dearest."

"What?"

"It seems we have misjudged her."

"Oh?"

"She wants to help us sway the vote."

"How?"

"She's just outside the door. I'll allow her to tell you herself."

"'Zor!"

"Calm yourself, darling. Azalea knows everything. She brought Lucius' missing journals."

Giancarlo released his wife and strode toward the door.

He opened it and said, "Good evening, Mrs. Snape—Azalea—welcome."

"Thank you, Giancarlo. How well you look," the lady said, kissing the man's cheek.

"My wife tells me that you have something for me."

A pile of levitating books floated in behind the witch, and Azalea directed them into the wizard's arms. He took them and then set them on a table without so much as a glance.

"I appreciate the return of these, but, tell me. How did you come by them?"

"That idiot Narcissa sent them to my son's godson, who had no interest in them at all. I noticed them while visiting Severus at Draco's flat, and decided to relieve the boy of them. It wouldn't do to have evidence that could be used against you surface to cause your plan to relieve us of that mudblood-loving Minister to be undermined, now would it be?"

"And how do you know anything of my plans, dear lady?"

"Come now, Giancarlo. I shan't tell you my secrets, but I _will_ tell you this: I never supported your Dark Lord because he was insane and impure. You, however, are a steady, pure-blooded wizard, a man of _vision_ , and one whom I stand ready to support."

"As do I," Zoroastrid said fervently.

Giancarlo was uncharacteristically touched by the glowing admiration on the faces of the witches, and he smiled. "Why, Azalea, you can take your seat as is your right as the Head of Snape House in August."

"The Snape name still means much to many of our peers. Yes, I will do that, of course—but I do not wish to be blown to bits should the vote not favor us," Azalea said, looking about the room pointedly.

Giancarlo laughed. "Don't trouble yourself. You will leave the chamber intact to watch the fate of those who work against the best interests of our society from a safe distance, I assure you."

"It's such a lovely old building," Zoroastrid said. "I hope that our friends see sense."

"Do not fret, dear," Azalea replied, patting the younger witch's hand. "I intend to make the social rounds with a vengeance before the debate. I'm certain that my being back in society can only help our cause."

"Excellent woman!" Giancarlo exclaimed. "Come, you must take tea with us in more congenial surroundings. I insist."

"Nothing would please me more, my dear—but tell me that you have something stronger to offer me than tea." _You've never held your tongue or your drink, boy, and I want your mind loosened wide_. "Getting here without Severus learning about it was quite a task. He's been unforgivably attentive of late!"

***

Harry stood in the empty hall that was to house her Family and her clan. "You've done wonderful work, and so quickly," she told the craftsgoblins.

"You honor us, Vanquisher," the chief of the craftsgoblins said, bowing. "Will the Protector also inspect our work before you furnish the hall?"

"Impertinence!" exclaimed Sharpclaw, who now served Harry as the Voice of the Gift Clan.

The craftsgoblin cringed. "Forgive me, I meant—"

"—no offence. None taken, truly. No, my husband's duties keep him Above, but I know he would wish me to express his gratitude for your efforts. You are a credit to the Goblinate."

The craftsgoblins excused themselves under the glare of Sharpclaw, who, once they were alone, informed Harry that "the clan-parents and their representatives will expect to meet you before the Gathering of the Clans begins officially at the Meeting of the Voices and your Presentation."

When the twelve clans had assembled, the Gift Clan would be officially welcomed into the Goblinate by Bonestorm and Bloodbrewer, the parents of the Ruling Clan.

_Which means that Severus will soon be here, but I'm not ready_ , Harry thought, concerned. For although Sharpclaw had agreed to serve her, the Gift Clan had no warriors, a state of affairs that could hinder her chances of being asked to serve as the Voice of the Goblinate.

"Sharpclaw, would it offend anyone if I invited into my clan wizards and witches?"

"No, I think not, for you are a witch—though I do think it would be prudent to include goblin warriors into the Gift Clan, Mother Snape."

It had been impossible, once Sharpclaw had accepted his new position, to dissuade him from referring to her by that title.

Harry sighed. "I'm not sure how to go about arranging that," she admitted.

"Mother Snape, perhaps you might like to meet the prisoners we captured trespassing on our territory? They will die for their transgression unless someone can put them to use."

"How many of them are there?"

"Forty of them."

"And that's more than enough goblins to create a creditable honor guard, isn't it? Take me to them, Sharpclaw."

***

Toothyanker rose to meet his death like a goblin as Sharpclaw and Harry entered his cell. "I die with stone in my heart!" he cried, while his thirty-nine clan-brothers cheered him.

"Are your pick-axes so rusty that death is now all you are fit for, brothers of the Earthmover Clan?"

"I do not speak to the females of the wizards," Toothyanker retorted, spitting upon the ground at Harry's feet through the bars of his cell.

Silence fell as the witch disappeared from Sharpclaw's side to appear behind the defiant prisoner and bend him to the stones. They struggled, but at last Harry pinned him and wrenched open his mouth.

"Lick back your offence, _digger_ , or I will cut out your tongue and teeth and make you a gum-muncher for the despisement of all!"

Goblins were prodigiously strong, and Toothyanker was justifiably terrified of the slender, ugly woman. He quickly lapped up his spittle from the filthy, glowing stone before the strange female spawn of what had to have been a pair of demons could make good on her promise.

Harry released the goblin and drew him up easily from the floor.

"I ask you again, is your pick-axe so rusty that death is now all you are fit for?"

Sharpclaw watched his clan-mother with keen appreciation as Toothyanker and the other members of the Earthmover Clan considered Friend Harry's question. _You know she's no thigh-mistress_ now _, don't you_?


	16. Cutting Stone

Cracknuckle could see that Friend Snape was nervous by the way in which he kept smoothing his hands down his formal, black and green clan robes, and sought to soothe his clan-brother's nerves. "Your wife's preparations for the Gift Clan's Presentation have been quite thorough, and many present at tonight's gathering are known to you."

"I am certain that Harry would appreciate your compliment," Snape replied, as they entered a corridor that was flanked by goblin warriors in what he surmised to be his Family's livery.

"Hail the Protector of the Goblinate!"

_Those don't look at all ceremonial_.

Cracknuckle looked very pleased indeed. "Announce us, door guardians."

Through the open doorway, Severus could hear the sound of merriment, and then he saw one of the guards return with a goblin who seemed to hold some authority.

"I am Sharpclaw, the Voice of the Gift Clan. I shall make your presence known."

Severus' heart began to beat faster. _I'm not at all prepared for this meeting_.

But Sharpclaw had already begun to announce him. "—of the Goblinate, and Father of the Gift Clan, Friend Snape!"

On cue, the Protector willed himself to walk through the mighty door and onto a landing at the top of a staircase that led down into the heart of the hall. The crowd parted, clapping and calling loudly, and though he did know many of the guests, Severus' eyes became immediately transfixed on the majestic figure of his wife who had walked out of the crowd to step upon the dais at the far end of the hall.

_Harry_!

A thrill of magic shot from the witch and rushed up the wizard's spine, one of many tendrils of their combined magic that had resulted from their magical bond. He could feel answering tendrils seeking her body from his own as he descended the stairs and approached her.

The Mother of the Gift Clan was resplendently arrayed in a gown of rich green material trimmed with black fur that flowed enticingly over her form in a shimmering drape. Her burnished black hair had been wound into a crown of braids atop her head, and these had been threaded with ribbons of black and gold.

_She looks positively regal_ , Severus thought, suddenly feeling inadequate in his own attire.

As Severus, who appeared as inscrutable and forbidding as ever, walked confidently toward her, Harry felt her stomach tighten into a knot of desire that was fed by the strength of their magic-fasting. Her skin hummed with the blood rushing to its surface, heated by her response to the dashing figure he cut.

_So tall_ , she thought, watching her husband's shapely long legs as they slid out of the clever slits of his robes. _And his hair—so long_ , she observed, desiring greatly to run her hands through it to see if it felt as silky as it looked. _He looks like a warrior king come to claim his prize_. _And an unworthy one, at that. I look like a little girl playing dress-up. I am_ not _ready for this!_

At last, Severus climbed the steps of the dais and Harry held out her hand to him as if compelled. When their fingers touched, the meeting of their combined magics made them gasp.

A very low murmur of laughter rippled through the crowd—above which, Albus Dumbledore's hearty chuckles of mirth could be heard.

"Welcome home, my . . . husband," Harry greeted Severus, faltering a bit in her uncertainty.

The catch in the witch's voice made the man believe that Harry's plans did not include a true marriage between them, but there was no trace of this concern in his response. "I am pleased to receive your _welcome_ , my wife."

_You're not angry with me_?

_No. I trust that you are not angry with me_.

Harry shook her head, greatly encouraged. "I shall enjoy having speech with you after we greet our guests, my husband."

"Of course, my wife," Severus replied before allowing Cracknuckle to conduct him about the hall and introduce him to various important personages.

Harry was similarly led about by a goblin that Severus did not know, but whom he surmised must be her chief lady-in-waiting.

Sineweaver presented her mistress to the mother of the second clan of the Goblinate, Shriekstunner, who beckoned Harry to lean down.

"Has it been awhile since your man wielded his axe, clan-sister?"

Abruptly, Severus felt the withdrawal of Harry's bond-send and he turned sharply toward where he had last felt her standing to see that she had colored a deep rose.

"Your humor should be talked of, Shriekstunner," Harry replied lightly, hoping that the lady would not press the subject farther.

Sineweaver had told her to expect a certain bawdy familiarity from her equals.

_But outright questions about my sex life aren't what I expected_! she thought before turning the conversation to the topic of the lineage of the Grindstone Family.

The Protector, feeling cold without the answering caress of Harry's magic, tentatively tested his ability to reconnect with her, and was rewarded when the witch opened to him in a warm wave. He also perceived something of what she was feeling. He was reassured by her fears, which seemed to match his own, and he felt intoxicated. He wanted nothing more than to seize Harry and carry her away from all distraction. Politely taking his leave of the clan-brothers to whom he had been speaking, he made his way toward his bride.

"Hail, Father Snape."

_Damn it, Albus_! _Leave me alone_!

"I think not. I simply must tell you how happy I am to see Harry embracing her new culture."

"I agree," Draco said, appearing from behind the older wizard. "Who would have thought that Potter—oh, I beg your pardon—Mrs. Snape would have had it in her to be so gracious and elegant?"

Ginny Weasley joined them. "Behave," she ordered Draco, cuffing him on the head.

"Headmaster, Draco, Miss Weasley," Severus said, nodding to each of his friends before fixing on Ginny. "It is a pleasure to see _you_." _Take them away, Miss Weasley_ , he willed.

But the young woman's eyes took on a mischievous glint that was worthy of Dumbledore. "My father would like to speak to you, Sir, when you have a moment."

"Of course," he replied, frustrated, but resolved not to embarrass Harry by appearing ill-tempered.

From her position by a group of thigh-mistresses—the goblin term for unmarried women—Harry tried to glance unobtrusively toward the part of the hall in which she felt her husband to be, but a column blocked him from her sight.

One of the ladies whispered, "There will be children in this hall before long."

Harry blushed and turned her attention back to her guests. They spoke of many things, but no mention of the coming Meeting of the Voices was made, as such matters, in goblin society, were considered uncouth subjects of discussion in a social gathering.

And then the dancing began.

Harry and Severus were, by unspoken design, kept from encountering each other as the dance progressed, but the wizard could feel the witch's shock at seeing him dance echo through their bond. It made him smile, and this stunned Hermione, who was sitting with several other pregnant women. But Severus did not see _her_.

Ron spied his wife, however, and made his way through the crowd toward her bearing a glass of some sweet, innocuous punch.

"A very chatty sort called Tonguepuller assures me that this is a beneficial drink for mothers-to-be," he told his wife as he handed her the glass.

"Mmm, it's good."

"It's good to see Harry looking so happy. Cor, but I was worried about her!"

Hermione heard the forced cheerfulness in Ron's tone. "Are you still?"

"Strange, isn't it, how things have . . . changed?"

The married couple had been staying in the Snape Family's hall for several days. There _had_ been many changes of decoration in that time. Hermione decided to tease her husband.

"Well, Harry wanted to get it right, you know."

"'Mione, I don't mean the decor. I mean, it's just—this is positively _surreal_!"

"What is, Mr. Weasley?"

"Oh! Hullo, Professor Protector—I mean, Snape—grand, this," Ron said, throwing open his arms to indicate the hall.

"Thank you."

"Yes, _thank you_ , boy, for ignoring me."

"Mother! Mother, I did not know that you were here yet."

"And that's a proper greeting, to be sure," Azalea said, standing on tiptoe to give Severus a peck on the cheek. "Well, aren't you going to introduce me to your friends?"

Hermione dipped her head to cover her amusement, and Ron quickly extended his hand to the lady to allow his wife time to collect herself.

Severus tried not to blush.

Harry saw her mother-in-law greet her husband just as Blaise Zabini addressed her.

"Mrs. Zabini."

"Wasn't invited," the witch replied stonily, indicating that Blaise should follow her.

A rippled hush traveled through the crowd as some of the guests saw the exchange. It was known that the Vanquisher had taken another wizard husband before her marriage to the Protector, and the goblins did not quite understand why Friend Zabini was present. The ways of wizards were indeed odd.

"That one's no threat," one of the goblin matriarchs told another. "He couldn't get her with child."

"Yes, but only look at Father Snape!"

The expression in their host's eyes was definitely not friendly.

"Perhaps they'll fight."

In the small chamber off the hall into which Harry had led Blaise, the only sound was that of the steadfast silence of the guards who lined the room.

At last, Harry spoke. "You're angry."

"Shouldn't I be? Your 'marriage' prevented mine!"

"I had no idea—"

"—that you were unfaithful to me?"

"Is there a problem, clan-mother?"

Harry glanced toward the fierce-looking goblin who had stepped away from the wall. "No, Toothyanker. I'm fine," she replied, feeling jealousy soaked rage reach her from Severus's bond-send. "Would you please ask my—the Protector—to attend me?"

"You're afraid of me?"

"No, but I think Severus should be here for this discussion."

"Why? To show your guests what good friends we all are?"

"A necessary step at such a time," Harry replied frostily, disturbed to feel her connection to Severus waning.

"How unlike you to require a man to handle things for you, my _lady_."

"Heretofore, Harry never had the opportunity to rely upon a _man_ , Mr. Zabini," Severus replied crisply, stepping next to his wife and taking her hand.

He was followed by Toothyanker, Cracknuckle, and Ron.

Blaise was furious. "How—"

"—are you, Zabini?" Ron asked.

"Weasley."

"Mr. Weasley was just telling me that he had not yet seen the sculptures near the dais, Mother Snape," Cracknuckle said pointedly as Toothyanker took up his station.

"Severus?" Harry asked, thinking at the man, _Should I leave this to you_?

In answer, the wizard placed the witch's hand into Ron's proffered one. "I'll join you directly."

When Harry and Ron had left the room, Severus turned his attention to his guest. "You know very well that she was never unfaithful to you."

"Do I? Then how—"

"—magical transfusion."

"You're _not_ a healer."

"No, I am _not_."

"Malfoy Manor."

"Indeed, Mr. Zabini."

Cracknuckle handed Blaise a scroll. He was pleased with how Friend Harry had deferred to her husband in this matter because it was unseemly for a _goblin_ wife to handle such situations on her own, but he knew that there was still an opportunity for fighting. _And that would not do_. "This document will make it possible to finalize your divorce, Mr. Zabini. I present it to you with the compliments of the Ruling Clan."

"Thank you," Blaise replied, glaring at Severus. "That was the only time?"

"It was."

"But . . . all this," the younger wizard said, indicating the hall, "how is it possible that—"

"—I believe that you must understand some of 'all this', at least, in part," Severus replied acerbically. "Goblin customs are rather . . . pragmatic."

"That's an interesting way to view what you did to Harry!"

"What I did was to save her when you could not. Would you have preferred Harry's death, Mr. Zabini?"

Some of the anger drained from the other man's expression, and his shoulders slumped.

Cracknuckle, sensing that the danger of an altercation had passed, withdrew.

"But she couldn't have known that it would have ended like this," Blaise said quietly.

"Harry has accepted her clan affiliation _and_ her position as my wife."

"She's only your wife by goblin standards."

"No, by wizarding standards, we are also wed. We are magic-fasted."

"But . . . but that can't happen unless there is something between the parties!"

"There _was_ —respect, trust, _necessity—_ "

"—love!" Blaise spat.

"On my part, yes," Severus admitted, "but I do not know if Harry—"

"—spare me your gracious doubts, Snape! Any idiot can see that she loves you!"

" _Any_ idiot?"

"Thank you for that. Yes, even I can see it, and I did long before this happened."

"A blunt pick-axe cuts no stone," one of the goblin guards whispered.

Blaise started at the rough laughter that followed that remark, which was quelled by a hard look from Severus.

"Do not persist in entertaining the fiction that Harry ever harbored . . . a romantic desire for me while she was wed to you, Mr. Zabini. Your . . . parting hurt her deeply."

Flushed, the young man glared at Snape, but then his anger drained completely away. "I know. I do know that."

"The situation is difficult, for more reasons than our personal concerns, Mr. Zabini."

"I know that, too. . . . Right. Just, just take care of her, Snape. Keep her safe. I know what comes next, and I . . . I accept it."

"Thank you," Harry said from the entrance of the chamber.

Blaise smiled weakly. "Congratulations, Ree."

Severus tried to quell the rising jealousy that flared inside of him as his wife embraced her soon-to-be ex-husband, and then his frustration when his mother appeared almost immediately behind the woman before he could take her into his own arms.

"I expect that you should return to the hall, my dears. Your other guests are becoming rather . . . curious."

Blaise led Harry out of the room, followed by Mrs. Snape, and Severus exclaimed, "Was ever a man so _plagued_?"

He ignored the laughter of the guards behind him as he returned to the party.

As the evening wore on, Severus became aware of a low thrumming pulse of power that steadily grew stronger between himself and Harry, as if the witch had put aside all of the doubts he believed her to harbor about their bond. The feeling made him patient, and, catching his wife's eye as she said goodnight to several of their guests, he thought at her, _Soon_.

Harry blushed as she thought back, _Yes._ Very _soon_.

***

"I learned something in my research of magic-fasting, Severus," Harry told him later as they stood in the center of their grandly appointed bed-chamber.

"And what was that?"

"Watch," the witch told him, waving a hand to dim the light emanating from the stones.

Between them, the tendrils of magic that they had _felt_ all evening became visible as streams of colored lights that swirled between their bodies.

"Beautiful."

"It is."

"I was speaking of _you_ , my love."

Harry smiled. "You love me."

"I do."

"Severus," Harry said, closing the distance between them through a sea of golden and purple light, light that deepened around them as they pressed their bodies together and kissed.

It was a tentative, exploratory kiss at first, but it soon deepened into something passionate and demanding when Harry's thoughts filtered into Severus' mind.

_I love you, I love you, I love you_. . . .

Harry had no idea when it had happened that she had fallen in love with the wizard, but the particulars no longer seemed to matter as Severus swung her up easily in his arms and carried her to the bed. 

_Our bed_.

"Yes, Harry agreed. Ours."

" _Mine_ ," Severus said then.

And their desire to have speech together was quite forgotten as they attempted again a more intimate form of communication.


	17. Taking Speech

Harry awoke safely in the shelter of Severus' arms, luxuriating in the feeling. It was just _them_ , and she had never felt happier. But as her sleepiness abated, she realized that her husband felt . . . distant. The glow of their magic-fasting was still swirling over the bed, but the playful patterns it had made during their love-making had calmed into a steadier glow that hovered like a mist above their bodies.

With a thought, Harry dispelled the fog and sat up to look at Severus clearly.

"What's wrong?"

"You're still wearing it," Severus whispered.

"What? Oh!" Harry responded, one hand flying to the white-gold band that dangled between her bare breasts, the same hand that also bore the Sigil of Authorization of her Family.

"Blaise's . . . gift to you."

"And Ron's."

"What?"

"The day that I was . . . first married, Ron gave me this chain. There's a Muggle tradition, "something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue . . . ."

"And the chain was to be your 'something new'?"

"Yes. And it was also Ron's way of telling me that he accepted things."

"Your marriage?"

"More than that. My being a girl—Ron and I . . . we never talked about the Change. He tried to ignore it, really, but when . . . well, on my wedding day, he couldn't anymore."

"I see. And the ring, Harry?"

"I've just never taken it off."

"You still love him."

Harry sighed, remembering the last time that she had seen Blaise before leaving the Wizarding World.

"Why don't you talk to me, anymore? Why won't you tell me what happened? I'm your _husband_. I _love_ you, Ree!"

"Of course you do," she replied, sitting by the hearth in her room at the Zabini estate.

"Look, I know that it must have been . . . awful, but it's time to forget about all that now."

The pain of her miscarriage came back to her then, and she laughed at Blaise's assumption that she could so easily forget what had passed and move on. _But he doesn't know_ , she told herself before another voice whispered to her, hissing through her consciousness to rise out of her in a laugh that was not her own.

"Is it, boy?"

"Boy? I'm a _boy_ to you, now?" Blaise demanded, grasping Harry's shoulders and shaking her.

The witch/wizard heard the anger in the boy's tone, and it amused her/him. _[But not as much as fear would be pleasing]_ , she/he thought in Parseltongue. _[Will you allow such as_ this _to touch you? Finish the him for his impertinence!]_

"No! I won't! Get out! Get out!" Harry shrieked, though not quite in a tone of voice she could call entirely her own.

The serpentine essence of Lord Voldemort retreated, just as did Blaise.

"I . . . love . . . you," she said, brokenly, beginning to cry. "Oh, gods! Oh . . . Blaise, I . . . do . . . love you, but . . . I can't . . . I can't do this anymore."

She had left the estate that night and gone to her godfather's old home, and had stayed there through the Second Trials. Only Draco had gotten in to see her there, bearing a letter from her husband. But she had never opened it.

"You have to tell him something, Potter."

"I know," Harry said in both her memory and the present.

Severus jerked himself out of the bed.

"I see. I had thought . . . no matter, I—"

"—misunderstand! Severus, of _course_ I still love Blaise. He was my husband."

"He still is," the wizard said coldly.

"No, he isn't!" the witch yelled, the rage she held in check—not her own—lashing out at her lover through their bond before she could stop it.

"Get out!" she shrieked, running to where Severus had fallen. "Leave us alone!"

The wizard grasped Harry's hands before they could claw at her face and pulled her down on top of himself, willing his love inside of her. He understood.

"Harry, come back to me. Harry!"

Crying, the woman went limp. "I can't, Severus. He won't let me. He's always waiting . . . inside. I . . . don't . . . know how to stop him."

"Shh," Severus comforted Harry. "It's all right. Harry, shh. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pressed you."

Severus picked Harry up, ignoring the pricking in his skin from the pain of the bond-send he had just experienced, and took her back to the bed.

"I hurt you. I'm so sorry, Severus. I . . . I never meant . . . ."

"That is why you left."

"Yes."

"To keep Blaise safe."

"And you, and everyone—I . . . I just didn't understand what had happened. And when I was near you . . . ."

"Our magic-fasting—you didn't understand . . . ."

"Why I felt drawn to you, but, but still loved Blaise."

"And Lily Peace, you . . . ."

"Oh, Severus, I didn't know whose baby she was. How could I have faced you? How could I have explained that? I just felt . . . I just had to get away," Harry said, more calmly. "How did you know?"

"Molly let it slip."

"Oh."

"She _appeared_ horrified by her admission, but I think perhaps—"

"—she told you on purpose. So that you would find me."

"Yes."

"But you were already looking for me. Why?"

"How can you ask that? I . . . I have loved you for . . . far longer than was appropriate, Harry."

"You are never inappropriate, my love."

"You don't have to say that."

Harry turned to face Severus, straddled him, and took his face in her hands. "I _do_ have to say it. I _want_ to say it. You need to _hear_ me say it. Severus, Blaise will always have a _place_ in my heart, but you . . . you _rule_ there. I am Harry James Potter, the Girl Who Lived, the Vanquisher and Mother of the Snape Family of the Gift Clan of the Goblinate, and your _wife_. The only title that matters to me is that last one, the _chief_ one. Severus, I _love_ you. I am _in love_ with you. _You_ are the only man I want."

A strangled groan escaped the wizard's lips as he pulled his wife into a deep kiss. The magic of their bond tightened between them, and all of Severus' doubts faded.

Harry broke their embrace, and attempted to remove the chain she wore, but the wizard took her hand.

"No, you needn't do that, Harry. I do not require . . . proof."

"No doubts?"

"No doubts."

"You're . . . you're crying," she said in a wondering tone, lightly brushing her husband's tears away. "I've never seen you cry before."

"I . . . cried in Malfoy Manor, after the attack, when I collected the shards of your wand," Severus admitted. "It shattered after I used it to stop your shielding spell. Do you not remember?"

"No, I . . . don't. I don't remember anything about that day."

It was a lie, and they both knew it.

"Ah," Severus replied, adjusting his position so that Harry could lay back against him.

She did. He sighed, and attempted to collect himself. He wanted to understand.

"He was with us that day, when we . . . wasn't he?"

Harry stiffened, as if fighting with herself, but at last she drew in a deep breath, and exhaled it as she said, simply, "Yes."

"I did not realize that then. I . . . Harry, if I had known what you were going to do because of what I caused to happen—"

"—you didn't cause—"

"—I blame myself. I _should_ have protected you!"

"Severus, _please_ —I don't blame you for what happened. You _saved_ me. You always _do_."

And that was a lie, too, one that Severus would not permit Harry to believe.

"Not always, Harry."

"No, not always. You're right. . . . But it's not your job to protect me, you know. Some choices . . . some decisions . . . you know that I had to do what I did."

"No, I do _not_ know that, but . . . it's in the past now."

"No, it _isn't_."

"No," Severus agreed, thinking of what he had just experienced. "It isn't."

"I don't know what to do about my . . . possession, but I think I can control it, _him_ , long enough for us to do what we must. . . . And we'll do that _together_."

"Yes. Together," the wizard replied through a yawn.

Harry snuggled more deeply into her husband and yawned, as well. "Do we have to get up, now?"

"No, not yet, my love. Sleep. We have time."

It had been over a day since the party, and Harry knew that time was, in truth, rather short, but she wanted a bit of peace for herself.

. . . _and for Severus, for_ everyone, _really_ , she thought before apparently drifting off to sleep.

_Peace for everyone_ , Severus thought, gazing protectively at his wife's pale features, at her scar, _comes at, perhaps, too great a price to pay_.

But remembering the joy he had experienced in his wife's arms only hours before, he knew that he would pay any price to see Harry safe and happy.

"You are my only concern, my only comfort," he whispered, knowing, of course, that Harry did not share his selfishness.

For his wife, he knew, though it no longer caused jealousy to rise in his breast, had love enough in her heart for everyone.

_It seems that I still have much to learn from you, Harry_.

A feeling like warm amusement flowed through him then. _If you promise to stop thinking so loudly and sleep, I_ might _be persuaded to do a little teaching before we have to leave our chamber_.

_None of your Gryffindor cheek, if you please_.

_That's not what you said earlier_.

_Mrs. Snape, I'm shocked_.

_You're_ never _shocked, Mr. Snape_ , Harry thought at him before willing their bond-send to once again become visible.

"Will you teach me to do that, too?" Severus whispered.

Harry opened up her clear, deep green eyes and winked at him. "There will be no foolish wand-waving in this hall."

" _You_ don't use a wand," the wizard replied, smirking.

The witch took his words as the challenge they were, and began to show her husband exactly of what use a wand could be to her.


	18. A Clash of Voices

"Once-son or no, it is not customary for our women to speak at the Meeting of the Voices," a goblin clan-father said, addressing the now thirteen clans of the Goblinate. "I say that the Vanquisher shall not speak! I say—"

"—a great deal more than I desire to hear, Father Brainscrambler," Bloodbrewer retorted, standing and pointing at the goblin. "You who have bred seven daughters would deny the right of a clan-mother to guide her affairs?"

"With respect, All-Mother, Mother Snape of the Gift Clan seeks to perform the work of the entire Goblinate, not merely the affairs of her own Family. This should not be permitted!"

A murmur of agreement rippled through the room, though not all of the other clan-parents spoke.

Bonestorm stood, and his wife immediately sat again.

"My wife has asked an excellent question, Father Brainscrambler. The speech of women is not enough to dull _my_ axe. Why should we be guided by tradition at this time of harmonious blending between goblin and wizard in our own hall? The Protector and the Vanquisher have brought strength to the Goblinate. Why should not Mother Snape present our shared views to those Above? Surely, a witch speaking as one of our own would be a powerful voice to wield against the voices of our enemies."

"Agreed!" called several goblins, pounding their weapons upon the great table around which the twenty-six clan-parents were now all again sitting.

Severus stood, and everyone quieted. "My wife is favored among wizards, respected, and much-missed. Her return to the Wizarding World as the Voice of the Goblinate would cause many Above to listen to reason. I stand ready to vote on the matter."

Harry stood, as well, and was followed by Brainscrambler, who thrust back his chair in anger.

"This is not done! A wife standing with her husband? Are we not goblins here?"

"Not anymore," Harry replied firmly. "And where else should a wife stand but with her husband? Severus and I are not always of one mind, but we are of one _flesh_. We support each other. Is this not the goblin way?" she challenged Brainscrambler, who glared at her. "The greatness of the Goblinate has been forgotten by the people of my birth. _That_ is indeed a problem. I would see my new people remembered by those who owe them more than they now know. A voice must be raised in our defense, a persuasive voice, and I stand ready to be the Voice of the Goblinate."

"And those are words that would turn a _weak_ goblin's axe toward the ground!" Brainscrambler exclaimed, "but they are not enough to persuade me to send a witch to do a goblin's work!"

Organchurner, Brainscrambler's wife, rose. "I stand with Mother Snape, as should _all_ clan-mothers. There are no witches here—only goblins!"

As one, the other clan-mothers rose, as did their husbands.

Bloodbrewer chuckled to see the look of stony resolve on the faces of the other goblin women and said, "Your axe may turn as it likes, Father of the Twist Family, so it would seem."

Bonestorm called in a commanding tone, "I stand ready to vote, friends, as do we all." He then turned to his wife. "Bloodbrewer, today you do not attend this meeting as my helpmeet, but as the co-leader of our people. I say that _you_ shall call the vote this day, and that all the clan-mothers shall, as being of one flesh with their husbands—though perhaps not of one mind—cast their votes on the matter before us."

_You are indeed a force for change, Vanquisher_ , Severus' voice spoke in Harry's mind. _You have wrought an alteration in the Goblinate that Bonestorm has desired to make for some time. I am proud to stand with you on this day, my love_.

Harry smiled as the vote was taken, thinking to Severus formally, _Thank you, Father of the Gift Clan. I trust that whatever the outcome of the vote, it won't prevent you from_ falling _with me later_?

Waves of amusement caressed Harry in a warm bond-send from Severus, and then it was time for them to speak.

***

"We cannot allow her to address parliament," Giancarlo said to Azalea over a pot of tea. "The fools of that body will listen to her."

"Then we'd best cleanse it," Mrs. Snape replied, "But I do wish you'd allow the Roman goblins to deal with ours before you go blowing things up. I shudder when I think of being overrun by such creatures."

"We've two weeks, dear lady, and I've made plans. Never think I intend to leave _any_ of our enemies in a position to harm us."

"Yes, darling. Quite right," Zoroastrid commented, her eyes shining with the fervor of a zealot as she continued, "Let those who would oppose us feel your strength!"

Most _unseemly_. Azalea thought in distaste. _You aren't a wife, but a_ convert.

"If the Roman goblins, as you put it, Mrs. Snape, cannot subdue the others, then my devices will take care of them."

"You have most wisely prepared, my lord. But how can you be certain that your . . . pets won't inadvertently set off the bombs?"

"Why, dear Azalea! You flatter me."

"The title is no more than you deserve, my dear. _May it serve you as it served Riddle_. "Do pardon my concern. Goblins distress me."

"You've nothing to fear," Zoroastrid said, "and everything about which to be pleased. Congratulate me, Azalea, for I am expecting again."

The old witch clasped her hands in apparent delight. "That is wonderful news. But are you not tired from all this excitement, Zoroastrid? I think you must be. Indeed, I feel it very important that you get all the rest you may before things go any further."

The younger witch suddenly felt her strength leave her. "Perhaps you're right. I . . . I believe that I _will_ rest now, darling," she told Giancarlo before leaving the room with a smile for her guest.

Azalea watched the woman leave, and then turned to her host—whose wand was drawn and pointing at her.

"I don't appreciate such magics being worked against my wife. What are you playing at?"

Without flinching, the witch replied, "I did not wish to upset the girl in her condition, as no doubt discussion of what to do about Blaise would."

"Ah," Giancarlo said, lowering his wand. "I see. Still, you must not do that again."

"As you wish."

"What do you suggest, then?"

"The boy has his uses. Send him to monitor your devices, my dear, and then have your pets kill him once everything has been settled."

"That is a good plan, but how can I control the boy?"

" _You_ can't," Azalea replied, pulling a small black phial from her robes. "But _I_ can. My son isn't the _only_ potion-brewer in the family, you know."

A nasty smile cut across Giancarlo's face. "Very well then, Chief Counselor Snape. I hereby approve your most excellent plan."

"Oh, I _do_ like the way that sounds, my lord."

***

The keeping chamber that the diggers of the Earthmover Clan had dug in which to place Master Zabini's devices was empty when Armtwister led the wizard's son to it for the inspection.

"What trickery is this?" the goblin asked, looking about the empty room in disbelief. "But we left them here—with my clan-brothers—where are they?"

The air began to shimmer, and Blaise, who had been expecting it, did not draw his wand as the goblins drew their weapons, several crying out, "We are betrayed!" 

The diggers surrounded the shapes coalescing into coherent form in the chamber.

"Clan-Father Throatripper!"

"Yes, Armtwister," the squat, one-eyed goblin replied. "I have come, and brought with me your wife," he told his clansman, indicating the female goblin who had appeared with him. "Go to your husband, Spinedancer, and welcome him to his new hall."

Armtwister embraced his wife quickly before thrusting her behind him when he saw the witch standing behind Throatripper. "Clan-Father, you have been ensorcelled, but we shall free you—axes up, men!"

"Yes, that is an excellent suggestion," Harry said, waving one hand unconcernedly toward the ceiling.

The goblins' axes flew from their hands to stick to stone above them in a sharp series of clanging sounds, and they stared in horror at the witch as she began to hiss in some foul language they did not understand.

The axes began to writhe and hiss as they slithered across the ceiling of the chamber like a nest of angry snakes.

Goblins, Harry recalled, did not truly care for snakes.

The result of her spell was instantaneous.

"It is an omen! She is a demon! What is happening?"

But Armtwister was not so easily cowed as were his brethren. "I need no weapon to do you harm, witch! I shall rend you with tooth and nail!" he cried, rushing the woman's position.

It was empty when he reached it.

From behind him, Harry said, "Attend to the words of your clan-father, who stands before you unbowed and unbroken. Why should he be hear at _my_ word? Think you he came lightly to this place?"

"The witch speaks the truth," Throatripper called over the din of the exclaiming goblins, most of whom cowered in the entrance to the room. "I have cast off our bonds of kinship to the Earthmover Clan. We dwell in this earth now, as the first goblin family of the Gift Clan. The kin of the Sifter Family is even now journeying here from the Roman earth."

"But why?" Armtwister asked.

Blaise moved to address the crowd. "Because my father is using you. He means to destroy you and all goblins with the help of _his_ Roman brethren."

"Is this true?" Armtwister asked, disbelief plain in his tone.

"It is, my husband," Spinedancer said. "I know the truth of it. Mother Snape," she said, indicating Harry with a nod of her head, "is the co-leader of the Gift Clan of the Goblinate. She sent warning to us of the treachery of Master Zabini."

Armtwister turned to Throatripper. "But Clan-Father, to serve a witch may be no different than to serve a wizard."

"Zabini and his kin in Italy have long," Harry said, reaching an arm high and grasping one of the transfigured axes in her hand, "sought to blunt your weapons. But I," she continued, handing the goblin his reformed axe, "will not do so once you have consented to join my clan."

"Are we to have a choice, truly?"

"Yes, Armtwister. Only free goblins shall serve my husband and I. We do not wish to deal falsely with you, or compel you to leave the home of your birth. The choice is yours, all of yours," she said, looking at the other goblins. "What say you?"

***

The opening of Wizard Parliament to the public was a momentous occasion, and the clash of voices outside the legislative chamber was deafening as witches and wizards pressed excitedly forward, grumbling as aurors supervised the checking of their wands.

"I'm terribly sorry, Sir," a harried looking clerk told one of the would-be spectators. "I simply must insist you hand over your wand. The security of the proceedings must be ensured!"

No one stopped Giancarlo Zabini as he passed the gaggle of angry citizens. He was a happy man. His wife was expecting his child, many of his peers had quietly assured him that they would vote his way, and Armtwister had sent word to him that his troublesome nephew would not be able to attend the debates. He took his place in the chamber and smiled confidently at the empty seat across the way. The "Vanquisher," he had been assured, would also not be attending the proceedings.

_I wonder who the beasts will send in her place_?

It was not until after the first break in the debates that Zabini had cause to curse the changing of titles.

"Please allow me to present The new Voice of the Goblinate, Mother Snape of the Gift Clan, as she joins these proceedings," Minister Weasley called.

"What?" Zabini almost shouted, his eyes flying to Azalea's. The old witch looked quite shocked indeed, which reassured him greatly. _So I am_ not _betrayed_.

The main door opened then, and Giancarlo watched in stunned silence as Harry Potter walked down the aisle toward the Minister's podium, shook the man's outstretched hand, and proceeded to take her seat.

The applause from the gallery was thunderous.

_Fool_ , Zabini thought, adjusting his expression from that of murderous rage to bemused interest and clapping politely. _You may have survived Voldemort, but you shall_ not _survive me_.


	19. An Explosive Resolution

Harry waited for silence to fall, taking comfort from Severus' steady presence in the gallery. _I hope we haven't underestimated Zabini's preparations_ , she thought, meeting her husband's eyes. He nodded to her, and then it was time to speak.

"Peers of Wizarding Britain, I stand before you today not only as the Voice of the Goblinate, but as a voice of reason against the lies of Giancarlo Zabini."

"Lies!" called someone from the back.

Minister Weasley banged his gavel on the podium before him and called for order.

"Lies," Harry continued after casting an amplification charm on her voice, "that he spread in my absence."

"Yes, your absence, Peer _Voice_ ," a Zabini supporter remarked sarcastically. "Good of you to grace us with your presence after so long, your majesty."

There was some laughter at this.

"I am not a queen, nor even a would-be monarch. I left because I thought that the man who _would_ have set himself up as our ruler had gotten me with child before I destroyed him."

The chamber went deathly silent.

"I was wrong about that," Harry almost whispered, though the magical acoustics of the room carried her voice to every corner of it. "But I was not mistaken when I realized that I had taken Riddle's knowledge of sorcery inside of me during the . . . attack."

The witch stopped momentarily and lowered her head to repress certain memories. She had not been sure that she would admit to her rape in this forum, but she was not ashamed of what had happened. _I_ let _him take me because he no longer feared to touch me after the change of my sex, and the metaphysical connection he forced between us went both ways_.

_Harry_ , Severus' pain-filled voice echoed in her mind.

It gave her the strength to continue her testimony.

"I ripped the Dark Lord's mind from his body, something that my father-in-law," Harry said, raising her head and her voice and gazing steadily at Giancarlo, "suspected and sought to use. He wanted to bind my will to his through a . . . proper remarriage to his son so that he could wield me like the tool of war I had become. . . . I could not allow that."

"If you truly know what Lord Voldemort did, then why couldn't you have stopped him?" someone asked.

"Why didn't you kill him?" demanded someone else.

At that suggestion, the hall erupted again.

"Silence!" roared Harry, her voice shaking the windows.

Everyone was.

"I have proof that Giancarlo Zabini has been working with foreign interests to sway both the minds of this body and the future of our world. He wants a kingdom of his own, and plans to build it with your money once it is no longer under the protection of the Goblinate. The Wizard Bank of Merlin is nothing more than an attempt to destroy the alliance between those Above and Below the earth of our land, and leave it weak for some new dark lord to conquer."

The general commotion that followed this accusation caused the Minister to cast a silencing charm over the gallery, but the exclamations of the peers were vigorous and loud.

"The woman has run mad!" Zabini exclaimed over the reduced din. "She speaks like a goblin—for the goblins! Brave though she has been, her defeat of my Lord Voldemort has left her insane!"

Arthur, red-faced and furious, demanded of Zabini, "Did you just admit to being a follower of He Who—of _Voldemort_?"

Giancarlo laughed. "I learned much from that madman. Only see," he said, withdrawing his wand and pointing it at the floor of the chamber.

Arthur dove away from his podium in alarm as a yellow bolt of light shot into it and the floor began to crack, shake, and fall away as the groan of earth could be heard pushing itself up into the chamber. The spectators fled as dirt and glassy looking globes spilled out of the chasm that Giancarlo had opened. 

They glowed a fell green.

The same green that lit Harry's eyes. _Severus_! she screamed in her mind. _Help me_!

_What can I do_? he thought to her as he braced himself against the shoves of the terrified people in the gallery.

_Don't allow his rage to claim me,_ she thought before opening that part of her mind in which the last vestiges of Tom Riddle's consciousness had made their own and releasing his powerful final emotions to fuel her magic.

Through the bond, Severus felt Harry's metaphysical body become engulfed in something like fire, though the flames were not hot. He knew that his wife was attempting to shield him from what she was feeling, while also controlling both her magic and the Riddle force's "ideas" of what she should be doing with it.

He knew that if he could not help her," she would be completely overwhelmed, perhaps possessed, so he imagined himself as water, and allowed his cool control to flow toward the flames of hatred that surrounded the witch's mind.

"Get the rest out!" Arthur shouted from somewhere in the room, and the commands of aurors could be heard removing those peers who had remained in hopes that they might be of service.

Giancarlo, meanwhile, had been congratulating himself for not placing his complete trust in his goblins. Several of his wizards had been sent to the true basement of the building with Avada Kedavra bombs. These were what he had called up from below. Now that his trap was ready to spring, he attempted to apparate.

"Damnation!" he shrieked, realizing that someone had set an anti-apparation ward around the chamber. _The gallery_ , he thought. _Climb to the gallery and get out that way_.

But looking up, he saw Zoroastrid with her wand pointing down at him, her son by her side.

And then a voice he'd never thought to hear again spoke to him.

"Face me and judgment, Giancarlo Zabini, my _servant_ ," Lord Voldemort's voice issued from the mouth of Harry Potter.

Her eyes were no longer green, but red slits, and her fingernails had blackened and curled around her wand.

Smoke poured from them.

Giancarlo screamed. He knew the spell his "lord" was about to cast.

No, _Harry_! Severus mentally screamed. _Don't do it_! _Think of the bombs—we_ have _to stop the bombs_!

For there were enough of the devices, Severus knew from having examined Lucius' journals, to rip through all of London.

An unearthly laugh escaped from Harry, then, who Severus could see in his mind had lost some of her definition. The witch was changing, inside out, into something perhaps much more frightening than explosive packages of death curse. She raised her hands and black shadow serpents shot out of her fingers to burrow into Giancarlo.

The man's skin quickly became as a bubbling cauldron as the snakes appeared to be eating him from within, and then, amidst his screams and the growing green glow, he dispersed into dust.

"I call upon the child you bear! Hear me, new soul—pure being—I call upon you now to wash from your mother the evil inside of her. Come forth, _come forth_ , come forth! I command you, child, to come forth!" a strident, elderly, feminine voice commanded from behind Severus then.

He thought it had to be his mother, but she was across the chamber from him, shooing the Zabinis out of the gallery.

_No, it's just Harry, Arthur, and I_ , Severus thought, as his wife's mind closed to him completely. He could no longer feel her through their bond. "I will not fail you again!" he called to Harry, unable to look behind him for fear that the woman he loved would utterly disappear if he did.

"Then call with me, man!" the feminine voice ordered imperiously. "Call your child _with_ me!" she cried again before beginning to chant, "I call upon the pure soul inside of you to come forth. Come forth, come forth . . . ."

Looking frantically beneath him at Harry, Severus added his words to those of the unfamiliar witch who he now felt stood beside him. "Come forth! Come forth! Come forth!"

Harry—or the thing that had hold of her, to be more specific—had been about to shoot serpents into a terrified, but resolutely still, Arthur Weasley when the magical words began to have an affect.

The smoke ceased pouring from her fingertips, and her eyes turned green again. She closed them as she screamed and fell to the floor, writhing in a fit that kicked up the dust of Giancarlo Zabini and set her skin glowing with a white light. The light grew brighter—but so did that of the Avada Kedavra traps.

"We need to hurry, I think!" Arthur shouted a bit shockily to the witch and wizard above him who were locked in verbal combat with the essence of Voldemort. "Yes," he whispered, looking into the ball of white light that contained Harry. "Oh, yes, we _must_ hurry!"

Two things happened then. The scream of a crying baby was heard from inside of the ball, and then the oscillating energy of the bombs began to _hum_.

"I believe that noise is our cue to exit, Sir," the short, plump, tidy lady said.

All of the sudden, Severus found himself outside on the street with Arthur Weasley—but of Harry and the unfamiliar witch, there was no sign.

"What did you see, Arthur?" Severus asked, feeling frantic—and confused.

The other man was still somewhat stunned as he took in the sight of hundreds of people, wands drawn, working together to reinforce the building in a combined shielding spell. He looked at Severus and replied abstractedly, "Congratulations."

It was then that the Father of the Snape Family remembered the sound of the crying baby.


	20. A Dish of Tea and a Lie-Down

Harry awoke in a slightly musty, formally appointed room. She was cold.

Many blankets were piled on her, and she could hear the sound of a fire burning. She stretched her fingers experimentally, and then drew in a deep breath. "Where am I?"

"There now, Madam," a sweet-faced young woman said, appearing above her. "You've had a nasty shock, so try to rest."

"Yes, but where—"

The girl's face withdrew, and was replaced by that of a funny sort of man who seemed stretched too thin. His skin was so pale it almost shone, his eyes were bright but colorless, and his expression unreadable. He did not _feel_ unfriendly, but Harry knew at once that he was not human.

"—am I?"

"In bed, resting, where you will stay, for now," the gentlebeing replied in a tone that made the witch want to do nothing more than sleep forever.

"No, Crispin. Do _not_ bespell the Voice of the Goblinate," another voice said.

It was the voice of an old woman, almost that of Azalea Snape's. Harry felt as though she should know to whom it belonged.

"You're . . . you've been on the telly, haven't you?" she asked, struggling to sit up so that she could see the lady.

The complete lack of pain in her body felt . . . wrong.

"Indeed I have been, but that is not important just now. Can you tell me your name?" the woman asked without coming into view, though Harry knew she stood at the foot of the bed.

"Harry. What's yours?"

"I have rather a lot of them, as do _you_ , I understand. In fact, I understand that you're in possession of something many of your people would prefer _not_ to name."

The memories came flooding back—all of them—and the witch felt her tears before she knew she was crying them.

"There, there," the sweet-faced girl said, reappearing above her. "Don't take on. It's going to be all right."

"Yes, my dear. With your permission," continued her elderly host, "Crispin will remove all trace of Tom Riddle from your mind. Would you like that?"

"Gods, yes—please!"

"Then close your eyes, Mother Snape, and allow me to work," the ethereal gentleman requested, as a pair of iridescent wings opened wide behind him.

This was the last thing Harry saw before falling asleep again.

Some time later, though Harry had no real idea of how long it was, she woke again in the same bed. But this time, she was propped up by pillows, and she was not cold. She could see more of the room than just the bed curtains and the peeling, painted ceiling. At the end of her bed was a fireplace, and in front of it sat two chairs. A gray-haired lady was sitting in one of them, her left cheek facing the witch as she bent over a book.

Harry hadn't needed glasses since she'd become a girl, but she thought that perhaps she needed them then as she recognized the woman.

"Ah, you're awake, and much sooner than Crispin told me you would be, too. . . . Would you care for a dish of tea before you meet your daughter, clan-mother?"

***

The Scottish goblins of the Free Clans, having feasted seven glorious days with their Southern cousins, were at last ready to depart the Great Goblin Hall. When the Tall-Walker's queen, who held a high clan-status among them, had sent word that enemies from under French soil were planning to breach her under-borders some weeks previously, they had cheerfully traveled toward the foreign beasts to prevent them from reinforcing the warriors of the Roman clans who had already crept shockingly close enough to the hall of the British goblins. 

Clan-Mother Winds' Family had driven the faeries out of the Hall of the Free Clans centuries before, and the Scottish goblins had never forgotten their debt. They politely refrained from wondering why their cousins could not protect themselves.

They had enjoyed the rout and had been grateful for the feasting, but were relieved that it was time to go. The mead was better in their under-highland hall, the thigh-mistresses more willing, and there was no sharp-faced, dark-haired wizard at home to rage at them. 

"Hillthumper," Sharpclaw said, clearly not caring much for the name of the Scottish envoy with whom he had been dealing, "tells me that his clan-sister is ready to send your wife back to you, Father Snape."

Severus, who understood by now that the witch from the Ministry was, in fact, no such thing, threw himself to his feet. In the seven days since his wife had gone missing, he'd had precious little sleep or food, and had eschewed all company save the teapot's and the voice of his house, who had despaired of his clan-father's ever lying down again.

"When?"

"Today, Friend Snape. Soon. She will be arriving in the Chamber of Entrances within the next few hours."

"Does she come . . . alone?" Severus asked, still haunted by the sounds of a crying child.

_Rockthrower preserve me—Friend Snape_ must _sleep, or he'll collapse_. "Hillthum—the Scottish goblin—says not."

"I will go to the Chamber of Entrances at once."

"Clan-Father Snape—please—do not go. Rest yourself before your wife returns."

"There is no rest without Harry."

***

The Chamber of Entrances was full of goblin dignitaries who had come to see their under-highland brethren off. It was a raucous scene into which Severus stepped, but he had eyes only for the tunnel entrance through his wife would soon be entering.

The tunnel was dark.

"Friend Snape," Bonestorm greeted him. "Would you like to journey a ways toward the emissaries who conduct your wife? Their service to your wife notwithstanding, I do not like to have such as they in my territory."

"What's this?" Hillthumper asked.

"Ah, clan-cousin! Your clan-sister is sending the Glowing Folk to return to us Mother Snape."

"The Glowing Folk? You would have them _here_?" the other goblin asked, scandalized. "I take my leave of you now, Bonestorm, and wish you _sense_!"

The Scottish goblins, alerted by Hillthumper, left the Chamber of Entrances with astonishing speed.

Severus remembered then, something he had learnt in Professor Binns' class. _Goblins do not care for fairies_.

Bonestorm laughed to see his Northern cousins flee. "The Tall-Walker's queen sends only a small deputation of the Glowing Folk, nothing a _proper_ goblin need fear."

In the confusion outside of the Ministry to contain the explosion of the Avada Kedavra bombs, there had been no time to wonder about the many unnaturally tall figures who had converged on the building, emitting a glowing force from their bodies that had helped to strengthen the wards of the wizards. When the bright green flash had at last ripped through the brick and mortar, the shield had held, and, much to the wonder of all present, the unfamiliar magic of the strangers had begun to repair the damage. When this task was completed, the beings had ceased to glow, had shrunk, and then had become lost in the crowd before disappearing altogether.

"Fairies!" Arthur had exclaimed. "She must have truck with the fairies, too."

Arthur had explained to Severus then something of his knowledge of the Muggle queen, and Severus, upon his return to the Great Goblin Hall, had been able to send word to the Minister of the Muggle queen's goblin affiliation.

But try as he had, Severus had not been able to persuade the Scottish goblins to take him to their clan-sister—and his wife. He knew only that Harry was being healed through fairy magic, and that she was safe.

But of the crying child, he could only wonder. 

A strange glow began to light the tunnel through which the emissaries of the Muggle queen would be traveling, rendering Bonestorm's question moot. Despite his earlier protestation, the All-Father of the Goblinate looked rather uncomfortable. He ordered everyone save the guards to withdraw, and stood resolutely next to the Protector, a hand on his axe. The light became blinding, and then, standing on the threshold, was a thin, tall man in a Muggle business suit.

"I am Crispin Maddox Heatherwing Windsor, at your service, All-Father Bonestorm of the Ruling Clan of the Goblinate. I present to you the compliments of Mother Winds of the Free Clans, reserving her many other titles as they carry little weight here, and ask your permission to enter the Chamber of Entrances that I might conduct two of your own safely home."

"Enter, Crispin Maddox Heatherwing Windsor, and be welcome."

Severus ignored this exchange and kept his eyes fixed firmly on the entrance.

Another light began to glow behind the fairy, and then Severus saw Harry, carrying a tiny, fleece-wrapped bundle, as she stepped out of it and into the chamber.

"Severus!"

"Harry, my wife! What—is this—but how?" he asked, rushing forward to the witch and laying gentle arms around her.

A newborn infant slept soundly between the reunited couple.

"She called to her, Severus," Harry said quietly, "and our child came early."

"Fairy magic!" Bonestorm said, though not completely disapprovingly. "Is the babe well?"

"The child is healthy, Sir," Crispin replied, watching the two new parents become lost in wonder as they gazed at their infant.

"This," Harry told Severus, carefully handing the child to her husband, "is Elizabeth Gift."

"Elizabeth Gift," the wizard whispered as the baby gurgled a bit and blinked sleepy eyes at him. "She is beautiful."

"Her coming helped . . . she helped . . . he's gone, Severus."

"Oh, Harry," the man replied, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to his wife's lips. "I'm glad of that. Are you well?"

"Philippa," Crispin called, and the young girl who had materialized with Harry, but had heretofore been ignored, stepped into the chamber and approached the happy couple.

"Allow me, Sir, Madam," she said, holding out her arms for the baby.

Severus looked at her warily.

"Father Snape," the fairy emissary said, "Philippa serves the House of Winds. She will not harm your daughter."

"Of course I wouldn't!" Philippa assured Severus, who surrendered Elizabeth Gift to her and drew Harry into an embrace.

_So much has happened_ , Harry thought. _Oh, Severus, I'm so sorry for scaring you_!

_I was scared for you, my love_. "But now you are home." 


	21. Remembrance and Reunion

It was a merry party that returned to the Burrow after the rededication of the parliament building. Arthur had performed the ceremony, declaring at its end that, "This is a happy time for us all, a time when the remembrance of our debts and the reunification of the peoples of our society shall lead us toward a stronger future. I look forward to the work of many hands," he said, looking toward where the emissaries of the giants, the fairies, and the other beings now welcome in the governing body stood, "as we _together_ shall build a better future for our people. I hereby dedicate this building as the Governing Hall of Merlin's Friends!"

No mention was made, however, of the hand of the Muggle queen in their affairs. Arthur had felt that _some_ changes were better left for later.

"Perhaps my _grandson_ shall have a hand in illuminating our people about our Muggle affiliation."

One month previously, on February the fourteenth, Harry Frederick George Valentine Weasley had been born with all of his fingers, all of his toes, a shock of bushy red hair, and a skin tone that promised to freckle at the earliest opportunity. 

"And so it continues," Severus intoned.

"Don't be cross," Harry admonished him.

"I am _never_ cross."

Everyone laughed.

"Here," Bill said to Hermione, "I'll take Valentine to give you a rest."

Everyone laughed again, for the new parents were in complete disagreement about what to call their son, and sides were being taken by their friends and family.

Ron smiled, "Thank you, brother."

Hermione stuck out her tongue at Bill. "Fine, I'm certain that _Harry_ would love to spend some time in his uncle's arms. Valentine, indeed!"

Hagrid made his way toward the newest Weasley's namesake. "It's so good to see you, 'arry, and the little mite, too. So precious."

"Would you like to hold her?"

"Oh, no. I'm too clumsy for that."

"Hagrid," Severus said, taking his daughter from his wife's arms and settling her into the half-giant's, "you've held a baby before."

"Yes, indeed," Albus said, joining them. "And I, too, can think of no one safer in which to entrust the safety of an infant—or the interests of your people," he continued, alluding to the fact that Hagrid had been made the giants' representative in the new government.

Hagrid blushed with pride.

"Never thought I'd be a politician," he said gruffly, embarrassed by his friends' trust and praise.

Harry laughed, reaching out a hand to Severus. "There are a lot of things I never thought I'd be," she said, also blushing.

_Mrs. Snape_ , Severus thought, caressing Harry's mind with his own.

"Yes?" Azalea called from her position by the fire. "What is it, dear?"

"Mother!"

"Oh, you _weren't_ thinking at me?" she teased.

"You know very well that he wasn't, Cousin Azalea," Draco told the old witch in mock disapproval from his position by the door to the kitchen before being dragged into that room by Ginny Weasley.

Severus looked around the room at the gathering. Augustine Marks and his sister, Miranda, were deep in discussion with Remus Lupin. Miranda, Snape understood, worked for the Department of Mysteries and had been spending a great deal of time at Hogwarts. Tongish Oddfish had taken a seat next to Bill Weasley, and they were talking about potions. Earlier, the old wizard had assured Snape that there was nothing to worry about as far as Harry's stabilizing potion was concerned. The fairy magic that had healed had her removed all chances of her further transmogrification. Severus was relieved, and, as he watched the good cheer of the other party-goers, he realized that he was happy. For the first time in his life, he felt _free_ to be happy—and to enjoy his _friends_.

It was more than he ever imagined for himself, and he was grateful.

_Husband_? Harry asked silently.

The could both feel their magic and love embrace the other through their bond.

"Husband," he whispered into her hair. "I like the sound of that, my wife."

Suddenly, a small popping sound burst over their heads, and Severus and Harry looked up to see a levitating Dobby, who held a sprig of mistletoe in his hands.

"Dobby is thinking that you is wanting to kiss."

Everyone laughed and clapped as Severus bent his head toward Harry's to kiss her soundly.

_I know a better word, you know_.

_Oh? And what is that, Harry_?

His wife stopped their kiss to look toward Elizabeth Gift who was sleeping contentedly in Bill Weasley's arms, and then her gaze swept over each of their friends in turn before settling warmly again on Severus. Her eyes were full of promises as they met his own.

"Family" 


	22. Epilogue: And So It Continues

Beth stood before the memorial plaque behind which was interred the remains of the sister she had never known. _Lily Peace_ , she thought, feeling sad. _What a pretty name_.

"I wish I were pretty."

The slender, pale, green-eyed, black-haired nine-year-old was not supposed to be in the Hall of Monuments, but she had long since become adept at slipping away from her goblin nanny, Tonguepuller, and she knew that she would not be missed for quite awhile.

After all, her mother was about to give birth again.

Elizabeth gift was the eldest of her siblings, who included Sebastian Arthur, seven, William Maddox, five, and Christopher Remus, three. She had come to her almost-sister's marker to pray for a _live_ one. She was tired of boys.

"All of the Weasley babies have been boys," she told Lily Peace of her Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron's children. "Even Uncle Bill and Aunt Padma and Aunt Ginny and Uncle Draco have boys!"

Uncle Charlie had not yet married, and Beth had heard "Molly Lady," as she referred to her honorary grandmother, despair of him ever finding a wife.

The little girl did not believe that her favorite uncle was looking for one.

_If two boys get married, it probably means that they_ have _to have boys_ , she thought in irritation. 

She was old enough to realize that Augie had not moved to the Carpathian mountains to work with dragons.

"But I really want a little sister, Lily. I'll need her to play with when 'Bastian and Billy and Remie go away to school."

Grandfather Oddfish, Grandma Azalea's second husband, had promised Beth that her magical abilities would come in time, but she did not believe him.

_I can't even levitate a broomstick, yet_.

It wasn't that Beth did not feel loved; she knew how special her parents thought she was. 

_But Mummy is so proud of my brothers' nascent powers_.

"Nascent" was a Daddy-word. He was found of weird words, and Beth had struggled hard to learn as many of them as she could. She needed to impress _one_ of her parents.

"Maybe I've spent too much time in the Earth, and that's why my magic won't come," she said meditatively, ignoring the fact that her brothers rarely left the Great Goblin Hall.

"I shouldn't think so, young lady," a kindly male voice said. "It never did me any harm."

Beth turned to see a young-looking, red-haired man standing behind her. She knew at once that he was actually quite old. For one thing, his clothing, a simple, shimmering, silver robe with black buttons that shone as if there were hundreds of shining stars caught inside of them, was rather worn. For another, he _felt_ older than the stone that surrounded them, in much the same way that Albus, her dear friend who had gone away, had always felt.

The girl forced herself to look away from the stranger's buttons before she fell into one of them.

"Who are you?" she asked, not _truly_ afraid.

"No one at the present time," he replied mildly, "and yet, a friend if you would like one."

Beth snorted rudely in disgust. " _Another_ boy?"

"I'm afraid so, Elizabeth Gift."

"How do you know my name?"

"I know a great deal more about you than that, my dear," the "young" man told her before beginning to glow.

"You're a fairy!" she exclaimed, thinking about how Tonguepuller did not care for them.

"As are you, after a fashion. And you are named for both she who gave you the gift of fairy magic, and the gift you will become to your people."

Beth knew very well the story of her birth. The Muggle queen had called her from her mother's womb only days after her conception. But that was a very great secret. It had always annoyed her that it was one she had to share with so many people.

"What _are_ you talking about? And . . . and if you are as old as I think you are, why aren't you dead?"

The man laughed, and his glow began to fade. "Many have wished for my death, child, but I am Taliesin. My place has always been here."

"You're nutters! Merlin was trapped in a cave—trapped _forever_!"

"Ah, yes—that was a great story, but I am afraid something of a myth. No, I have only been waiting, my dear, waiting until it was time to guide the king again."

"But . . . but I'm a girl. Why are you talking to me?"

"Because every king must have his queen, a partner with whom to share the burden of leadership, and I think that you would make a proper one for _Harry_."

"Harry? Do you mean Valentine? But that's stupid! Val can't even herd gnomes out of his own garden—how's _he_ ever going to lead anyone?"

It was then that Beth noticed the reflected light from the stones, but it was not emanating from them. It was coming from _her_.

"Hey! I'm _glowing_! How did you _do_ that?"

"Indeed you are, my dear, and with quite a lovely light, too. But I assure you, Elizabeth Gift, that the light is all your own."

"That may be," the girl replied with a tartness she had learned to affect from her father, "but lighting up like a stone isn't very useful, is it?"

"Oh," Merlin said, "I wouldn't say _that_. You'd be surprised what secrets one may find in stone."

And then Beth found herself returned to her room in the Snape Family's hall. Her father was waiting for her.

"Daddy!" she exclaimed, running to Severus, who opened his arms and scooped her up. "Daddy, I—"

"—went off again. Yes, I _know_. What have I told you about worrying Tonguepuller in that way?"

"I'm sorry, Daddy, but—"

"—you'll be wanting to meet your sister, I assume?" the wizard said, smiling indulgently at his daughter.

"A sister!" Beth exclaimed, quite forgetting, for the moment, that she had a secret to share. "Is she named, yet?"

Severus laughed, something that Beth, like her mother, never got tired of hearing.

_It's just like a gift when Daddy laughs_.

"Not yet. That's why I've come for you. Your mother wants you to help us name your sister. Would you like that, my love?"

"Oh, _yes_ , Daddy," the child told him, struggling down out of his arms impatiently and running through the open door. "I've got lots of ideas!"

_And that_ , thought Severus proudly as he followed his daughter, who was glowing with something more than happiness, _is only appropriate for the future queen of the Friends of Merlin._


End file.
